


Happiness is a Long Shot

by DistractedDream



Series: Happiness is a Long Shot Universe [1]
Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!, Yu-Gi-Oh! Series
Genre: Altershipping, Angstshipping - Freeform, Bronzeshipping, Completed, Conspireshipping, Deathshipping, Fetishshipping, M/M, Necroshipping, Plot, Resurrection, Shadow Realm, Tendershipping, Thiefshipping, Trashshipping, Wordcount: 50.000-100.000, Wordcount: Over 10.000, Wordcount: Over 50.000, eclipseshipping - Freeform, psychoshipping, stabshipping, stockholmshipping, tornshipping - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-03
Updated: 2017-08-01
Packaged: 2018-08-12 17:01:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 76,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7942210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DistractedDream/pseuds/DistractedDream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Darkness spreads across the stone, bound by the candlelight. The veil between their world and the Shadow Realm tears quietly until only a column of pitch black indicates their success. Tightening his jaw, Marik thrusts the Millennium Rod into the shadows. The golden scepter disappears into the darkness, a lifeline thrown to the lifeless.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>Sometimes a long shot is the only shot you have.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I used the internet for translation/terminology at a few points. If you have a recommendation for different phrasing, please let me know!
> 
> Thank you again to SerenityXStar for being my beta reader. Please go check out her stuff!
> 
> I can be found on Twitter @DistracteDream and on Tumblr @DistractedDream. Please leave kudos or comments if you liked this! I appreciate every single one.

The hood of Marik Ishtar's robe hides his face as he chants. Beads of sweat cling to his temples, his wheat blonde hair sticking to his neck. Behind him, he hears Ryou shifting under his own robe. The Egyptian breathes out slowly to refocus on the spell. The candle flames around them grow taller with the magic in the air, white and black wax dripping onto the stone floor of the tomb. A few candles start to slowly dim, unable to fight the darkness Marik calls forth. Ryou hisses behind him as wax from the white candle he holds falls onto the bandage covering his left hand. He can't stop his invocation to ask if he's okay. He can't guarantee that either of them will be okay after this.

Darkness spreads across the stone, bound by the candlelight. The veil between their world and the Shadow Realm tears quietly until only a column of pitch black indicates their success. Tightening his jaw, Marik thrusts the Millennium Rod into the shadows. The golden scepter disappears into the darkness, a lifeline thrown to the lifeless.

 

* * *

Months before, Ryou sat in his apartment in Domino City, eyes weary from studying for his latest exam when his cell phone pinged. He searched for it under his text books and papers, blinking owlishly at the bright screen once he found it.

_Marik Ishtar: I need your help. I'm bringing him back._

Ryou’s head dropped against the back of his chair. _Him_. The spirit. This was folly and Marik was smart enough to know it. Yet Ryou didn't have the heart to say it aloud. In a way, he missed the shadow-demon as well. A knife, Marik's knife actually, still sat sheathed in a drawer in his bedroom, while a leather coat hung untouched in his closet, morbid mementos of the being who once shared his body.

_The Ring is gone. What help can I be?_

He pulled his long white hair into a bun as he awaited the reply.

_Your blood._

_And your brain. You know more about him than anyone._

The Brit sighed heavily, the papers on his desk moving in the rush of air. Marik wasn't wrong. It would have been impossible not to know him when they shared headspace. His phone pinged again.

 _Please,_ _Ryou. I know it's asking a lot of you, but I've tried everything. I think you're the link._

He groaned, looking at his calendar. _I have exams until the 23rd. Do you have any idea how much magic is going to be required?_

The answer was quick: _Yes._

Ryou knew he was insane for even considering this but he really didn't need much time to think about it. _After exams. How do you even plan to reach the Shadow Realm?_

The delay in the response was longer this time.

_I have the Rod._

 

* * *

Ryou coughed in the dusty air, his eyes adjusting slowly to the dim light of the torches ensconced in the walls. Marik stood before him with a happy grin, skin darker from his sun worshipping over the interceding years. His body was more toned, his stance more relaxed than during their time in Battle City and Ryou was vaguely reminded of Marik's alter ego. He shook the comparison from his mind and readjusted the duffle bag on his shoulder. "We couldn't have gone to your flat first? At least let me clean up and put my stuff down?"

Marik shifted nervously at the questions. "I can take your bag if it's heavy. It's no bother." Ryou’s hair danced around his face as he declined. The Egyptian turned and beckoned Ryou to follow him farther into the tomb. "We can put your things down in my room. There's a wash basin in there too. Though I have to warn you that everything will be dusty after a day or so."

"A day or so?" Ryou halted in his steps, staring at Marik's back. "We're not going to your flat? We're... we're sleeping down here?!"

Marik paused with a sigh, head lifted though he didn't face the other man. "I don't have my apartment anymore. I had to sell it to get the cash to pay for the Rod. I had to sell pretty much everything, Ryou." He looked over his shoulder. "I've given up everything to bring him back and even if we fail, I won't regret trying."

 

* * *

They needed several weeks to prepare the spell. Dark circles were visible under their eyes as both lost sleep. They only didn't fare worse due to Marik's insistence on going outside to see the sun each day and Ryou’s determination to make their camp rations into something resembling food and ensuring that they both ate.

When they did sleep, they were haunted by nightmares. Darkness choking them. Shadows stealing their bodies away until they were shadows themselves. More than once, they had awoken with racing hearts and sweaty hair, tangled up in each other for comfort. Most times they separated without a word passing between them until one night when Ryou tipped his face up and Marik dipped his down and their lips met soft and tentative. Since that moment, they still didn’t need words, using their lips and hands to fight away the nightmares.

The worst part of their work was Ryou's offering. Drawing his blood hadn't been a problem for either of them. The spell though needed a piece of his flesh in addition to the blood. Ryou had been reluctant at first. Even Marik's incessant pleading didn't sway him for several days. The Brit was adamant that he did not want another scar on his body for the spirit. Then Marik pointed out that skin from an existing scar would probably work best as it would hold the deepest connection to the demon. They'd both cried as Marik sliced skin away from Ryou's left hand. Neither had spoken for some time after, keeping their distance from each other until Marik appeared at the doorway to the bedroom. He wore a long hooded purple robe and offered Ryou the same.

"It's time."

 

* * *

He was nothing. He had told them once he was the darkness and it was true. Separated from his host, from the thief king who had sacrificed himself for his creation, from the defeated dark god, the former shadow-demon drifted through the Shadow Realm. Time passed differently than in the real world and the spirit had no concept of how long he had dwelled in the darkness. It would not have concerned him if he did not have so many regrets.

He could feel nothing for the ancient Egyptian who died thousands of years ago. He had no care for the powerless god who used him as a pawn. He certainly had no remorse for his attempted vengeance or those who had been caught in his crossfire. No, his regrets were closer to where his heart would lie if he had been created with one.

Blood running over pale skin that wasn't truly his. Scars marring a body he'd stolen. Frightened brown eyes when they awoke to find what the spirit had done. He regret that his rage, his cunning, the violence he inflicted on his host had created its own magic, its own enchanted strength enough to separate him from the Millennium Ring, make him into something more than a shadow puppet. He should have stopped existing when Zorc was destroyed. Instead he had found himself in the darkness. And he regretted that.

The demon was haunted too in the shadows. Violet eyes in his memories, flashes of gold in the back of his mind, reminders of goodbyes never said, of opportunities missed. Another regret weighing on his empty soul.

Lost in this recollection, he almost misses the warm gold before him, the sharp wings of the Rod reflecting the candlelight glow from the other side. His eyes narrow. Another fantasy? Another mirage from the shadows to torment him? Pale fingers tentatively touch the metal and a rush of warmth floods his senses, filling the shadows' void. His head snaps up but his vision can't penetrate the darkness covering the other end of the scepter. An illusion then. He starts to turn away until a noise echoes in the shadows.

" _Tozz feek_ , Bakura! COME ON!"

Thus named, the spirit clutches at the Rod, the empty space of his heart suddenly filled with a rapid pounding as he is made real.

 

* * *

Marik screams into the darkness, the Rod wavering in his hold. He panics as his strength fades and his cries become more desperate. A bandaged pale hand around his own startles him, face turning to Ryou at his side. Brave Ryou who knew the spirit best, who shared a blood tie with him, who offered his own flesh and blood, lending his own strength to pull him from the shadows. His soft voice barely disturbs the air around them. "Marik..."

"NO! No, Ryou! I am _not_ giving up." His knuckles go white as his grip tightens. "Bakura, you bastard!" The shadows fade, withdrawing from the weak candlelight. He is losing it, losing the fight, his voice breaking as he screams. "BAKURAAAAAAA!"

Light replaces the shadows, Marik and Ryou hiding their eyes under their hoods, their arms dropping from the outstretched position. Ryou moves first. An indrawn breath, a step backwards, relinquishing the space beside the other man. The Egyptian pushes the purple fabric from his head, eyes widening at the proof of their achievement. His heart catches in his throat, words lost as he takes in Bakura standing pale and naked before them. Marik, worn out from the spell, can't hide the hopeful tears of joy in his violet eyes as they meet Bakura's mahogany ones.

The spirit made flesh steps forward, his eyes never leaving Marik's, the last tendrils of the shadows falling from his shoulders and hair. His hand reaches out and Marik leans forward.

A sharp crack ends the silence as the former shadow-demon's hand meets the Egyptian's cheek. The Millennium Rod clatters to the floor, color rising in Marik's face from the slap, those joyful tears becoming ones of hurt and anger. Those eyes that haunted Bakura in the Shadow Realm regard him with nothing but pain and heartache before turning away. Marik's steps are soundless as he storms out of the altar room.

Ryou's brown eyes follow Marik as he disappears deeper into the tomb. "You jerk," he says as he turns his sorrowful eyes to his former possessor. "He gave up everything to bring you back. Pulling you from the Shadow Realm has been his only purpose for years now. Marik would have done anything to rescue you. You could at least be gracious."

Bakura growls at the younger man. "I didn't ask to be saved." His hands curl into tight fists at his sides. "This isn't some game anymore, host. I lost my game. I'm not even dead because I never lived. I'm not real and no amount of salvation Marik offers will change my fate. I don't even want it."

"I’m not your host anymore. You must have wanted it," Ryou points out quietly. "We couldn't have pulled you from the shadows if you hadn't grabbed the Rod." He holds up his hand, carefully unwrapping the bandage to reveal the fresh cut in the old scar. "All of our efforts wouldn't have done anything if you hadn't held on." He shakes his head as he gathers a bundle from the corner of the room, tossing it at Bakura's bare feet. "Things have changed. Like your hair." The former spirit's eyes widen, tugging at the strands to bring them before his eyes. "It's silver. Didn't the thief king have silver hair?" A distressed noise comes from the other's throat. Ryou moves to leave but pauses at the door. "I would curse you for everything you put me through." His head turns, regarding him over his shoulder. "But there's nothing I could invoke that would be worse than the torture you inflict on yourself."

Bakura can only stare at his back as he walks away. Left to himself, he crouches to inspect the bag Ryou provided. Clothing. Khakis and an unmarked black tee. Black boots. Simple but utilitarian. His now-silver head lifts, throat tight as the rejection of his former host and his own rejection of Marik wounds a heart he didn't know he had. He dresses carefully and runs his fingers through his hair. They've given him no weapons, no money, no identification and worse, no purpose. With the silent footfalls of the thief who died for his creation, Bakura takes his first steps into his new reality.

 

* * *

The late afternoon sun had still been warm when Bakura started across the desert. As night fell though, so did the temperatures until he had to grind his teeth and wrap his arms around himself. Yet, he kept walking, knowing he must eventually find civilization or be found by Death.

The quiet of the desert affords Bakura no distractions from his thoughts. He is mortal now with his own body to injure, to care for, to destroy. He has no host to hide in. There is no pharaoh to kill and the thought of even dueling the pharaoh again exhausts him. Zorc, likewise, is gone which leaves Bakura with no one to serve. He can only plod through the endless sand as lost in his thoughts as he is in his wanderings.

Another chill strikes him and makes him huddle in on himself. He knows he must keep moving though his steps slow. A glint of light catches his attention and he straightens, altering his path to walk in that direction.

From the ridge of a sand dune, Marik watches Bakura unfold and move toward him. A breeze catches his kufiyah, the material moving about his head and shoulders. He had removed his robe after the ceremony, leaving him in his beige cargo pants and a sleeveless white shirt. His only concession to the chill besides his kufiyah was a light jacket, specially ordered years before in lavender to match his eyes. The Egyptian's heart aches to see the new man struggling though he finds himself proud of the way Bakura refuses to show weakness. He waits patiently in the moonlight, a prize at the end of a summit if Bakura would have it.

Silver hair still glows just as well as white would in the pale astral light as the former spirit stops before the golden haired human. They regard each other in silence, violet eyes searching mahogany ones. Finally, a hand bronzed deeper from years of sun exposure extends and offers a black leather trench coat. Cleaned and well-cared for since his final duel, Bakura accepts the item without a word, slipping it on with practiced ease and popping the collar in his own personal style.

Marik nods once and starts down the opposite side of the ridge. He pauses once to make sure Bakura is following, leading him down seemingly deeper into the desert. They walk shoulder-to-shoulder as the land flattens, old bonds of partnership reaffirmed in their body language. Marik stops once, slightly adjusting their course, directing him to wait a few feet away. An unremarkable wooden door buried into the sand lies before them. Bakura steps aside as Marik reaches for the handle, noticing how the moonlight plays over the tresses escaping his head covering as he pulls the door open.

A torch lights the steps descending into the earth. Marik begins down with practiced ease but halts once he realizes Bakura doesn't follow. The former demon stands indecisively at the edge of the top step. The darkness below is too reminiscent of the Shadow Realm and for a moment, a look of worry crosses his features. The man looks from Bakura to the bottom of the stairs, his eyes already well accustomed to the lack of light. It takes a few moments before he realizes how dark it must seem. He ascends to the third step, taking the torch from the wall and holding it out to illuminate farther into the tomb. His free hand stretches out to Bakura, giving him a soft smile.

The shadows run from the light in Marik's hand and the smile he gives Bakura tempts him to run as well. But run to what? He has nothing. He still is nothing, like the darkness. He can run and remain nothing - or he can take Marik's hand and exist in the light. With more strength than he would have needed to flee, Bakura inclines his head. Pale fingers rest over a dark palm and hand-in-hand they descend into the tomb Marik has made into his home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Tozz feek" = screw you  
> Kufiyah = material folded into a triangle worn over a man's head and can be wrapped around the neck/shoulders for warmth
> 
> Chapter title from "Shadows Die" by Black Veil Brides.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, internet translation in use. Please send in corrections if you want!

Hand in hand, Marik leads Bakura through the passageways, their feet making no noise, one from long familiarity with the path and the other with traces of the thief who he never was. The tunnels widen as they approach the more common areas. The only light provided comes from the tomb keeper’s torch and the former spirit has to appreciate how he must have walked these halls in complete darkness. A sticky wetness on the back of his hand makes him lift their hands to the circle of torch light. His brow creases, finally breaking the silence between them.

“Marik, why is your finger bleeding?”

 

* * *

The smell of sulfur drew Ryou back to the altar room. “Oh, you must be kidding me.” The candles still burned, although they were practically stubs now. Without much thought, he starts extinguishing the flames, working in a circle around the floor. At the last black candle, he pauses, staring at the fire. “Did we… Did we close the circle?” He can’t remember, just Bakura’s appearance, the slap, and immense disappointment before he left after Marik. His eyes widen as he realizes they had simply all walked away, leaving the invocation open. “Oh, oh bollocks!”

A figure steps into the dim light from the single candle, a high pitched maniacal laughter echoing off the stone walls. Before Ryou can lift his eyes, the flame blows out.

And Ryou runs for his life.

 

* * *

“What? I’m not…” Marik drops the other’s hand, lifting it closer to his face. “Hunh, I guess I did. I must have cut it on the Rod. Fucking thing is still sharp.” He frowns, the finger starting to throb now that he focuses on it. “I think that damn thing took a chunk of skin out.”

From further down the darkened tunnels, a solitary scream reaches them, chased by insane laughter.

“Ryou…” His name leaves both of their lips together right as Marik’s torch goes out. Bakura freezes. He can’t move except for the racing of his heart. The Shadow Realm has come to claim him back, to steal him from the light. He hears Marik cursing under his breath near him and his trembling hand reaches out for him. “…Marik?” His fingers close on air as the other man, oblivious, drops to his knee, struggling to relight the torch. “Marik?”

“Just a second. These shitty matches won’t…”

Another scream interrupts them. Bakura panics, any façade he once clung to crumbling in his fear of the darkness. “MARIK!” He yells his name as tears threaten to spill over his lashes. His entire body shakes, breath catching in his throat. “MARIK, PLEASE!”

From the pitch black, arms wrap tightly around Bakura and he struggles, the instinct to fight overwhelming. “It’s me. I’m right here,” Marik coos against his temple. “You’re not alone. It’s not the Shadow Realm. I can get the torch but you have to stay calm.” The smell of amber and sunlight and musk envelopes the former shadow-demon, breaking through his phobia to calm him. He nods once, fingers clasped on Marik’s jacket as he’s slowly released. He keeps his hold as the Egyptian moves carefully back to the floor, Bakura hunching over him without letting go. “Fucking piece of shit, come on, you bastard, if you don’t fucking catch fire-” Flame fills the space ahead of them, bright enough that they both recoil for a moment as their eyes adjust. “Finally.”

Holding the torch to the side, Marik turns back to Bakura, his free hand cupping his cheek. Bakura averts his eyes first, unable to accept the compassion in those violet eyes. “It’s gotten quiet. Maybe it was a false alarm. My host probably saw a mouse.” It’s unlikely, but it throws a wall up between the connection they were forming in the light.

“Ryou,” Marik corrects. With enough words said, the pair continue down the tunnels.

 

* * *

The library affords Ryou a temporary hiding place as he tucks himself under a table. All the wall torches had blown out, leaving the tomb in total darkness. There had been a few times when the being had gotten close to catching him, fingers in his hair or Ryou brushing by him as he’d backtracked his steps, eliciting a scream from the man each time. He clutches the copper dagger he’d pulled off the library wall tighter to his chest. There’s a better steel knife in the kitchen area if he can get to it. He doubts this ancient one is sharp enough to give him a papercut but he feels comforted by holding it. Sweat trickles down between his shoulder blades yet he feels cold as his blood rushes from his extremities. The Englishman knows he has to get to the other room. If he can only remember how to get there in the shadows.

The silence sends a chill through him. How does everyone stalk through the tomb without a noise and why can’t he manage it? Ryou toes off his shoes, praying that he’s not making a mistake. He pops his head above the table edge, ears pricked for any laughter. He has no idea where Marik or Bakura have gone but, as he doesn’t hear them either, he figures he must be alone with this thing in the darkness. A lantern, left from all their long studies, still sits on the tabletop and he holds his breath as he clicks the artificial light on.

No demons cackle in response and nothing jumps from the receding shadows at him. Letting out the held breath, Ryou pushes himself to his feet, taking the lantern as he pads down the tunnels. The walk to the kitchen would normally take him a minute and no more. Tonight, it takes him closer to ten. Each movement in the shadows tenses him, each imaginary noise has him pausing. Finally he reaches his destination and finds it blessedly empty. He sets the ceremonial blade and lantern on the crude wooden table they used for meals, eyes locked on the steel cook’s knife, back turned to the room’s only door.

“ _Salam, qaleel fa’r_.”

Ryou’s pale fingers grasp the knife as he pivots, blade extended before him. He steps back, only to brace his feet in a defensive posture. The shadows at the door are darker than the rest at the edges of the lantern’s light and they move deliberately toward him. Bare bronzed feet step into the illumination, Ryou’s eyes tracking the light as it moves upwards over smooth skin. His grip on the knife handle tightens as the shadows relinquish a new ghost, for Ryou would have sworn the man before him was destroyed long ago.

Marik’s alter-ego stands where he is revealed in the light, lean muscles deceptively lax. The differences between the alter and the real Marik were obvious. Everything about the copy was darker, as though the shadows still coated him like a second skin. Amethyst eyes rather than violet. Golden honey hair, not golden wheat strands. And of course there was the height, amplified by the violent spikes of hair surrounding the duplicate’s head. The no-longer ghost smirks the same maddened expression he’d fought each duel wearing as he takes another step nearer.

The knuckles on Ryou’s right hand are impossibly white from where he holds the knife but he grins back. “Sorry. You’re going to need to threaten me in the Queen’s English if you want it to have any effect.”

The not-Marik stops, momentarily confused by Ryou’s blasé words. “So the little mouse is brave.” He tips his head back, cackling. “You always were the cute one.” He drops his chin down, licking his teeth as he leans forward, a predator ready to pounce. “You’ll make an adorable corpse on the pyre.”

The shorter man doesn’t dare look at the dagger still laying on the table, maintaining eye contact with those mad amethyst eyes. Maybe he can stall until Marik or Bakura return. “You think so? I’m all scarred now. If only the spirit hadn’t used me so roughly.”

“I think you’d enjoy some rough handling,” the other Marik snerks. A slight blush creeps over Ryou’s face at the implication. “Come here and let me show you.”

White hair swishes as Ryou shakes his head. “Romance really is dead. You can’t even have a conversation first.” The false Marik steps closer. “Hold it!” The dagger lifts higher. If he jumps for him, he’d get nothing but a knife to the throat for his efforts. “How are you here? Yugi defeated you.”

Dark shoulders shrug. “There was darkness and then I heard my name. I went towards the noise and found flames. Then I found you. Now come here. This won’t hurt for long.”

“…your name.” Ryou groans. He had said Marik’s name during the ceremony. “But Marik would have needed to give blood and flesh in order for it to bring you out.”

“Yeah, about that.” Both Ryou and not-Marik start, looking to the door where Bakura and Marik stand in the light of their torch. Marik’s chin lifts as he faces his alternate, conveniently flipping him off and displaying his bloodied middle finger. “Apparently I cut myself like a dumbass.”

Bakura moves in line with Marik with his fist clenched at his sides. “Marik, stay away from Ryou or I swear by all the Gods-”

“What Gods?” The copy sneers at them. “Did you meet any Gods in the Shadow Realm? Or do you mean Zorc? How is Zorc? He made me look like a kitten.” He snickers at his own joke. Bakura growls, Marik throwing out his arm to keep him from lunging. “While this is a lovely reunion, I’m getting bored. And I am so tired of being bored.” Not-Marik swings back to Ryou with a feral grin. “Let’s have some fun.”

“NO!” Bakura yells.

“Fuck!” Marik curses.

Ryou doesn’t utter a word as not-Marik pounces, his left arm swinging in a vicious backhand, bringing a frying pan down onto the copy’s skull. The crack is louder than either of the other men’s exclamations, the thud of the alternate’s body hitting the floor louder still. The Brit stands poised over the unconscious form, ready to ensure he stays down.

“Holy shit.” Marik rushes to Ryou, taking the frying pan from his hand as clearly that’s the bigger threat than the kitchen knife in his other hand. Bakura stalks around the alter, delivering a swift kick to his ribs. “Bakura!”

“That was for sending me to the Shadow Realm the first time.” Ryou frowns while Marik rolls his eyes. Bakura crouches down, holding his fingers in front of the knocked out double’s nose and mouth. “Shame you didn’t kill him. Here, give me the knife.”

“You’ve been alive less than twenty-four hours. You’re not killing anyone.” Bakura lifts his head, mouth open to protest his former host’s declaration. “No. No murder.” Ryou carefully sets the knife back down and wipes his forehead with the back of his hand. “Well, this has been a rather eventful day.”

Marik snorts. “What are we going to do with him?” His eyes never leave his duplicate’s back, staring at the scars they both bear. “It’s almost pretty. Isn’t it?” It’s a question to himself and neither Ryou nor Bakura can answer him. “He needs clothes. And I think I have some rope.”

“Chains would be better,” Bakura offers. He straightens, noting how Ryou leans slightly into Marik. So. It’s like that. He sighs, fingers dragging through his platinum locks. “If you have some cloth, I may remember how to wrap a shendyt. It would at least get his ass out of our faces.”

The Egyptian opens his mouth to comment, but the Brit beats him to it. “And here I thought you liked looking at Marik’s ass.” The silence of both men follows him out of the room as he takes the lantern to look for the rope and cloth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Salam, qaleel fa’r" = Hello, little mouse  
> Shendyt = ancient Egyptian kilt-like garment
> 
> Chapter title from "My Songs Know What You Did (In The Dark)" by Fall Out Boy.


	3. Chapter 3

"I still think chains would be better." Bakura huffs as he tightens the ropes around Marik's copy's wrists. His actions aren't gentle and he relishes the thought of giving the other rope burn. They bent his arms behind his back, rope circling his chest and shoulders and upper arms. His right wrist is tied to the wall at his left, the left to the wall on his right. His head lolls forward, still unconscious from Ryou's swift application of cast iron to his skull. Bakura sneers down at the golden spikes of hair. "I'm going to cut his hair."

Ryou clicks his tongue and nudges Bakura away from their inadvertent prisoner. "You've done enough." He prods careful fingers through his hair, relieved that there's no blood in the strands. Crouching down, he does another gentle examination of his ribs, the spot from Bakura's boot a violent purple and blue. "He's going to be in a lot of pain when he wakes up."

"Good."

"Bakura," Ryou softly reprimands.

Marik leans against the door frame. He remained quiet as Bakura manhandled his twin into the room, only offering help when he needed to prop him up to wrap the shendyt around his hips. Otherwise he kept his distance, arms crossed over his chest. "What are we going to do with him?"

"Leave him to rot. It is a tomb after all."

The Egyptian rolls his eyes as Ryou yet again chastises him. "We will do no such thing. He's part of Marik, in a way, like you're part of me." The white haired man wets a cloth and tenderly wipes down the duplicate's face. "And you wouldn't want to hurt Marik, right?" He doesn't need to look over his shoulder to know how Bakura stiffens at his question or the way Marik's breath catches in his throat at how Bakura might respond. Ryou speaks again to diffuse the heavy tension between them all. "It's not just a tomb either. It's Marik's home."

"His family's house. Marik's flat is in Cairo." The silver haired man turns to Marik. "You invited me to visit once."

The violet eyes avoid Bakura's gaze. "It was in Cairo. You never did visit." Ryou sighs from his position on the floor next to the double, gently rubbing the damp cloth over his neck and shoulders.

"I was rather busy, trying to kill the pharaoh and all. You remember him? You swore to do the same." Bakura shifts to properly face Marik, arms crossing over his chest, unconsciously mirroring the other's stance.

"And your gods damned vengeance has always been more important than anything else, yeah? More important than taking care of yourself. More important than anything Ryou wanted." The man clicks his tongue again, not wanting to be brought into it. "More important than..." His voice trails off, eyes averted once more.

"Than what, Marik?" Bakura hisses. "Finish your thought."

"Than me!" Marik leans forward, pointing at his own chest, muscles around his neck and shoulders tight. "More important than me, motherfucker. Your vengeance is the only thing you care about. Gods!" His hands drop to his sides, knuckles pale as they curl into fists. "I should never have brought you back!"

The angry words have both Ryou and Bakura reeling. Ryou ducks his head down to let his hair hide the tears welling in his eyes. Bakura doesn't reply for several moments, his arms uncurling from over his chest. "Why did you bring me back?"

The question deflates the golden haired man, head hanging down. "I don't know anymore. It doesn't matter. You're here now." He sniffs, lifting his head and shaking his hair back. "I don't have my apartment, so you missed your chance. I sold it. Ryou's right. This is my home. This tomb. It's all I have."

Bakura's mahogany eyes bounce from Marik to Ryou and back. "What in the bloody hell are you saying? You're loaded. You have more money than all of us put together. You were head of an international crime organization. What happened?"

Ryou speaks up first, saving Marik from having to rehash the details, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. "I told you he gave up everything to bring you back, Bakura. When I said everything, I meant everything. He used all his resources and then sold almost everything to get the money. I don't even want to know what he paid to have the Rod stolen and delivered to him." He shakes his head. "Everything Marik owns is in this tomb. This tomb is his life."

" _Ab_ would be so proud," Marik offers bitterly. He waves off Ryou's empathetic look. "Don't. I knew what I was doing. I knew my fate when I started walking this path years ago."

There's a twinge of jealousy in some deep part of Bakura over how the other two communicate so easily. Marik's words catch his attention though. "Wait. Years?" He looks harder at them both. He'd never really paid much attention to Ryou's appearance because whenever he'd looked at his reflection, it had always been him and not his host. Marik, however, was leaner than he remembered, the angles of his face more defined, the height difference between them more obvious in the way Marik carries himself. "How long was I gone?" The other two exchange another look. "Damn you both, answer me!"

"Three years," Ryou responds.

Bakura takes a step back, eyes widening. "Three...?"

"I did the best I could," Marik offers. "I tried so many different spells and offerings and even once I had the Rod, it still took time before I realized that I needed Ryou." For a moment, he looks unsure of himself. "I never stopped trying."

"And you did it." Ryou gives Marik a fond smile, blinking in surprise when Bakura growls at him.

"Fine. You're broke. Three years have passed. And now we're stuck with Jack the Ripper and his daddy issues. What now?"

"Come on, Bakura." Marik's brow creases. "That's me you're talking about."

"Well, we can't call him Marik too." The former spirit smirks. "I suggest we call him Fanny."

Ryou blushes from his position next to their captive. Marik gives them a confused look. "Fanny? Like bottom? It sounds like a girl's name."

Bakura chuckles to himself while Ryou answers. "No. No, it means... Ah..." His face burns. "It means..."

"Pussy!" Bakura cackles gleefully.

"Are you calling me a pussy?!"

"Marik! Bakura!" Ryou throws his hand up to stop them and then drags his palm over his face. "You're worse than Joey and Tristan." He studies the unconscious man, brushing his blonde strands off his forehead. "Ishtar."

"What?"

"Come again?"

"Ishtar. That's what we'll call him." Ryou lifts his brown eyes to them. "Bakura stole my last name. We'll give your other half your last name. And you don't really want to be tied to your family name, right? He was created because of your family." He shrugs one shoulder, getting to his feet. "Let him carry the family name."

Two pale faces turn to Marik to await his decision. He stares at the bent head, conflict clear on his face. Finally, he nods. "I don't want the name. He can have it."

"That's settled then." Ryou rests his hand gently on the gold spikes. "Ishtar."

 

* * *

It feels like a train ran over his head and possibly his ribs as Marik's alternate regains consciousness. His lids pry open, a pinched look on his face as his vision tries to come into focus. A candle burns low across the room, Bakura's one concession to their prisoner's comfort. He wouldn't have cared if they'd left him in the dark. The Shadows had embraced him as he had embraced them. His neck and shoulders ache, though they're trivial concerns to his throbbing head and tight ribs. He tries to struggle to his feet, groaning as he can only get to his knees. The double flexes as he attempts to straighten his arms from behind his back, eyes dropping to his chest as he feels the rope against his skin. He thrashes against the restraints, a string of curses growled from his lips.

"You're awake. Guess some of us need more beauty sleep than others." Dark golden spiked hair lifts, amethyst eyes narrowed at Bakura standing in the doorway. "Hello, Ishtar."

Their captive struggles in the rope, fingers wrapped around the cord as he tries to pull it from the wall. "Then you should sleep eternally, _djinni_. Come closer and let me help you fall asleep."

Bakura practically beams to be named such. "Now that's much better than _iksu_. Maybe you're not as crazy as you look."

Ishtar stops working against the bindings as he cackles, settling on his heels. "Oh, I assure you. I'm as sane as you are." He smirks up at him and tips his head to the side. "Do you miss it, Bakura? Our home in the Shadow Realm. The feel of the darkness caressing you. The screams of your dead ringing in your ears."

"I heard no screams." Bakura steps closer, Ryou's kitchen knife clasped in his right hand. "I admit I miss the sound of people begging for their lives. Maybe you could remind me how lovely it is." The flat edge of the blade slides over Ishtar's face. He could easily turn the knife and slice his cheek open. Ryou made him swear not to kill him though and he finds he's not inclined to break his word to his former host.  
  
Ishtar doesn't flinch, instead sticking his tongue out to lick over the steel, eyes never leaving his captor's. "Is this what you've always wanted? Marik on his knees, subservient to your will, to your twisted desires?" Bakura draws the knife away with a grimace as the bound man licks his teeth, snapping them at his fingers. "As far as tortures go, I'm rather underwhelmed by this. The little mouse had more ferocity than you." The former Ring-spirit hisses. "Don't worry, Bakura. I understand most men experience performance anxiety at some point." The comment earns him a swift backhand across his face. "Thank you, sir. May I have another?"

"You shut your mouth."

"Why?" Ishtar's tongue traces over his lips, tasting blood from where the slap broke skin. "Wouldn't you rather have me open it?" He demonstrates, letting his jaw hanging wide, tongue lolling out, feigning a soft noise to match the dark, needy look in his eyes. Bakura's new heart stutters, desire pooling warm low in his groin. Ishtar rises to his knees with another noise, leaning forward as though he wants to swallow Bakura's length.

Bakura grits his teeth in an attempt to ignore the hard-on his body seems keen to sport. "Motherfucker." He swipes the blade in a shallow cut across Ishtar's face, breaking the temptation. Ishtar only laughs, the sound increasing as Ryou enters.

"Bakura!" The former Ring spirit can't turn yet. If he does, it will be obvious how Ishtar had affected him. He snarls and kicks his ribs again, the action enough to refocus the flow of blood in his body. "BAKURA!" Ryou rushes to them and shoves Bakura back. "What is wrong with you?!"

Ishtar continues laughing to himself, rocking back onto his heels. Bakura gestures with the bloody knife. "He's your problem." With that, he turns on his heel and stalks from the room.

The Englishman sighs as he watches him leave. "Ishtar. You shouldn't provoke him. You don't help your case when you do." He bends down to one knee next to him, holding a water skein up for him. "I brought you some water. I'm afraid you slept through breakfast."

"What case? A basket case?" Ishtar almost giggles at his own joke, opening his mouth for Ryou's water obediently. He drinks deeply, the water slipping over his lips and chin as he pulls his head away. "Why do you all keep calling me Ishtar?"

Ryou wipes his face dry with his thumb. "We decided to call you that. Bakura has my family name. It's even more appropriate for you to have Marik's. Given where you came from and all." He dries his hand on his blue jeans. The shoulder of his tee hangs off his arm, the seam having ripped during his run from Ishtar. He tugs at it ineffectually to get it to sit right. It stays put for all of ten seconds before falling again. "Plus she was the goddess of fertility, love-"

Ishtar interrupts him. "Sex and war." The other man regards him with surprise. "Everything Marik learned or experienced, I did too. Some try to link Ishtar to Isis, but it's all children's fairytales no matter who tells the tale." His tongue peeks over his lips again. "May I have more water?"

"Oh! Of course." Ryou holds the skein up to his lips. "It's not going to work, you know. Pretending to be nice to me. I'm not going to let you go. You've tried to kill all of us. We can't trust you."

"Then what are you going to do with me? These ropes won't last forever."

"We'll figure out something." Ryou smiles softly, the look almost innocent as he brushes Ishtar's hair off his face. "We brought two dead spirits back from the Shadow Realm. I wouldn't fuck with us." He pats his cheek, standing slowly, Ishtar stunned into silence with the contradiction between his expression and his words. "Plus we have the Rod." Ishtar can only watch as the younger man walks away, appreciating the confident sway to his hips from the back, a slow feral grin spreading over his face. He keeps his voice soft, not meaning to be heard.

"Do you? Then where is it, little mouse?" His manic laughter echoes through the room as the candle dies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ab = father  
> Djinni = demon  
> Iksu = thief
> 
> Chapter title from "Breathe" by The Prodigy.


	4. Chapter 4

Hushed voices attract Bakura's attention as he meanders through the tomb. Marik had quickly abandoned showing him how to avoid various traps when the former spirit with the soul of a thief smirkingly bypassed several to show off. Left on his own, Bakura stuck to the well-lit tunnels, lantern in hand and a flashlight tucked into his jeans' pocket. He creeps to the nearest corner to better hear the conversation between Marik and Ryou.

"...not going to last much longer. We'll need supplies before the end of the month, maybe sooner now with four of us."

"You can always go home, Ryou. You don't have to stay." A pause hangs before Marik continues. "Okay, okay. I guess I can sell these."

Bakura frowns and tries to peek around the corner to see to what Marik refers. "No," Ryou's soft voice drifts to him. All he can see is Ryou's back and Marik's head bent down to him, his hair blocking Bakura's view of his face. "You've already sold the other pieces. Don't give those up." Bakura wrinkles his nose, unable to get a clear view.

"We're supposed to wear all of it from the time our fathers die until we die. Each new tomb keeper receives a new set as the old one is buried with his." The glint of gold catches Bakura's eyes as Marik tucks his hair behind his ear. The movement reveals Ryou's pale fingers caressing the earring where it hangs against his neck. "Not sure these alone mean much."

"They mean something to you. Don't sell them. We'll get the money somehow. Maybe my dad-"

"You said last time you couldn't ask him for another loan without having to answer questions about why you needed it. Does he even know that you're here?" There's no answer. "Ryou."

Bakura decides he's overheard enough. He certainly doesn't want to hear any more of the tender way they speak to each other. He spins around the corner, setting the lantern at his feet and leaning casually against the wall. "Seems like what you need is a tomb thief."

Both men startle at his sudden appearance and he scowls at the way Marik grabs Ryou's arms protectively. "Fuck, Bakura, that's like ten years off my life right there. Don't sneak up like that." Marik frowns at the other man, palms rubbing Ryou's arms before moving his hands away. "How long have you been listening?"

"Long enough to figure out that the answer to your problems is on your father's corpse." He examines his nails. "He's buried with all that tacky gold jewelry you used to wear, yeah? Let's relieve him of his burden."

" _Ayreh feek, iksu._ " Marik glares over Ryou's shoulder. "How dare you suggest disrespecting my father's afterlife!"

Bakura narrows his eyes. "Your father never respected you in life. Why the bugger should we respect him now?! It's survival, Marik. You should understand that. We need the money and he's not using the gold. It's simple."

Ryou stands silently between them, unmoving even as Marik leans over his back aggressively. "It marks his service to the pharaoh in life and beyond! He needs it in Aaru, you idiotic bastard."

"Aaru doesn't exist!" Bakura stalks closer and practically pins Ryou between them. "It's shadows. Nothing but endless shadows and darkness and emptiness and nothing. Nothing, tomb keeper. You have the key to your survival wasting in a sarcophagus for no reason! Tell me where it is." He grins darkly. "Or don't. I'll find it eventually."

Marik hisses and Ryou braces his feet to keep him back, pressing his hands into Bakura's chest. "Stop!" Color sweeps over his cheeks as he realizes how intimate this would be if they weren't about to have fisticuffs. "Bakura's right. Marik, I'm sorry, but we need that gold and your father was a wanker." His former possessor regards him with blatant surprise, even as Marik protests. "I'll show you where it is."

"Ryou! This is my family."

The shorter man wriggles to turn to face him. "No. This is your father. We owe him nothing. Any consideration he deserved ended when he gave you those scars. We need the money to survive." Pale fingers cup his bronzed cheek. "I'm sorry."

"You know, there's probably more gold in the other graves." The jealousy threatens to tear him apart so Bakura throws out the words deliberately to hurt them.

"No!" Two voices reply as one. He steps back, retreating from them to the safety of his lantern. "Wait. Let me get some tools. It'll be easier to open if I bring the crowbar at least." Ryou's fingers glance over Marik's earring again. "We won't disturb anyone else. I swear it."  
  
Marik bites his lip and nods. "I'll... I'm going outside. The sun should still be up." He squeezes Ryou's hand, earning a soft smile, and gives Bakura a conflicted look. "Good luck, thieves."  


 

* * *

Ryou lifts his torch higher, shadows scattering around his feet and flung over the walls, cast by sarcophagi filling the room. He finds the notch in the wall and hangs the torch to leave his hands free. The bag of tools on his shoulder drops to the floor, clanging loudly in the dead space. He shrugs and pulls his long hair up and away from his face, securing it in a messy topknot. "We have to wake the dead anyway. The good thing is that we should be looking for the newest grave." He takes a flashlight, starting for the nearest resting places.

Bakura flicks his lantern on, mildly irritated that Ryou is braver than he in the darkness. "We could check all of them. Marik doesn't need to know."

"But I'd know." Ryou straightens from where he had been trying to read the inscription. "And I made a promise."

The other man scoffs. "Right and we wouldn't want to break a promise to your boyfriend." He plops down onto a sarcophagus, fingers idly tracing the etchings.

"My boyfriend?" The Brit stills, white brows drawing together. "You think Marik is my boyfriend?"

"Isn't he? Even the dead can see the way you act around him, the way you talk to him. You never spoke to me so sweetly."

Ryou crosses over to him, clicking off his flashlight in the glow of Bakura's lantern. "You used me. You never tried to know me. Not outside of what wouldn't give you away as you tried to get closer to Yugi so you could get revenge on the pharaoh. I never had the chance to speak nicely to you. We shared a body but you never knew me."

Dark eyes look up at him through silver fringe. "And yet you kept my coat."

A pink blush steals across Ryou's face. "I never said I didn't know you."

“If you know me, then you must hate me. You said you would curse me.” He doesn’t look away, needing to know how badly things are broken between his former host and himself.

Strands of hair fall out of the bun as he shakes his head, framing his face in a soft white glow in the low light. “I never said I hated you. I was exhausted. I didn’t really think Marik would succeed and then there you were and you slapped him. You hurt him and by extension, you hurt me again.”

His fingers itch to touch that warm skin, scraping his nails into the stone to stop himself. "You're with Marik now."

The color on his cheeks deepens. "A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell."

"So you've kissed then." The information makes Bakura's stomach tighten and he doesn't know if he wants to destroy something or vomit. He opts for destruction, dropping his gaze as his fingers pick at the crumbling edge of the sarcophagus.

His former host sighs and pulls his hand away from the stone, linking their fingers together. "Are you jealous? I would never mean to hurt you."

Bakura snorts. "No. Why would I be jealous? I'm done with your body. He can have it. And Ma-arik..." His voice catches on his name and he clears his throat. "Damn dust. I don't care what you two do." Ryou's free hand captures his chin and forces his head up.

"Liar." He leans over Bakura's lower position, noses almost brushing, eyes locked on his. "He's not my boyfriend. Marik-" He cuts off, distracted by the writing on the stone under the other man. "Up! Get up! This is it. This is the one." He tugs Bakura off in his excitement. "I feel like Indiana Jones or something. Get the crowbar."

The former shadow-demon chuckles at his reaction. "Now you see why my _ka_ was happy with his fate as a thief. It's fun." He pulls out the tool and swings it over his fingers a few times. "Stand back and let a professional work." Ryou rolls his eyes but gives him room. "Never had to use these before but the other body was stronger." He wedges the bar under the lip of the lid, prying it up enough for it to be pushed aside. Ryou hurries over to help, both of them able to move the stone enough to reveal the coffin beneath. "Like bloody nesting dolls." The crowbar tucks into the seam and the wood falls easily to the side.

Bakura expects Ryou to recoil from the corpse, but instead his line of sight is blocked by white as he leans over the edge to get closer. "He has the same color hair as Ishtar." Bakura wrinkles his nose and pushes Ryou back some. "Marik's hair is lighter. Neither of them really look like him."

"He's dead so I should hope not. At least he doesn't smell too rank." The former spirit grabs for the gold around the dead man's wrist and arm, humming in pleasure when they slip off easily.

"It's the spices they use in burial." Ryou walks around, working with gentle hands on the other arm. "With the heat, the smell would get rather awful rather quickly if they didn't." Bakura lifts the corpse's shoulders, both of them cursing when the head falls off. "Bakura!"

"I didn't! I've never had a fucking head come off!" His fingers poke at the jagged line of broken skin. His voice quiets. "How did he die?"

"Ishtar. He used the Millennium Rod and..."

"And practically decapitated his father. Damn." Bakura shakes his head and pulls the necklace from the torn apart throat. "We're lucky he only sent me to the Shadow Realm then. I don't think either of us would have survived if he'd really wanted us to die. Did I miss anything?"

"There's a ring," Ryou says, sliding it off the finger. "You think Ishtar didn't want us to die? I mean, he killed others, but us..."

"You're trying to rationalize a psychopath." He holds out his hand for the ring. "I'll put it with the rest." Ryou doesn't look up from the piece, thumb tracing the patterns in the gold. "Or keep it as a souvenir of your first tomb raid. I think we have enough to sell for now." He turns as the other man pockets the ring, putting the stolen treasure and crowbar away. "I'm hungry. Let's go-" He pauses at the sound of stone against stone, brows furrowed as he looks back. "What are you doing?"

"We can't leave it open." The Brit pushes ineffectually at the lid by himself.

"And why not? You have a problem with mice down here?"

"I don't want Marik to come in here and see it." He arches a snowy brow. "Or Ishtar. He gets loose, sees his father's face, sees what he did. Do you want to deal with that time bomb?" Bakura grumbles but he walks over, helping him push the lid in place. "Thanks." He wipes off his face with a grin. "Food, right? I could go for some tea."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ayreh feek, iksu = fuck you, thief  
> ka = soul
> 
> Chapter title from "Mz. Hyde" by Halestorm.


	5. Chapter 5

Marik closes his eyes and tips his face up to the dying rays of the sun. In moments, it will sink below the horizon but for now he basks in the late day glow. A light wind blows his layers of hair around his face, a lover's touch for one long denied the simple freedom of outside. Even his Cairo apartment had an expansive terrace which he kept as well appointed as the interior. Odion often found him sitting out there, staring off to the horizon until his eyes ached and he gave himself a headache.

He swallows thickly at the thought of his childhood companion. As soon as Marik had disbanded his empire, he'd tried to send Odion away. He had felt guilt each time he looked at him, regret for the years lost in Marik's shadow, under his father's whip. He had been freed from, well, Ishtar was what they were calling his other personality. Odion didn't need to protect him from himself any longer. He'd been cold, but finally the once-servant had left him.

His relationship with Ishizu had never been the same after Battle City. They still loved each other, of course, and Ishizu was the only one he bothered to tell when he first returned to the tomb. She'd begged him not to go back. She'd offered to join him. He declined that offer, though he did allow her to replace the cell phone he'd sold so she could reach him. A smile teases his lips. Amir would be a toddler now and he could picture his sister chasing after his nephew. Marik knew he was overdue for a visit, but there was certainly no way he could leave now.

He drops his head, violet eyes opening as he looks over his shoulder at the tomb entrance. His entire life was in that gods forsaken crypt. The worst part is that it could walk away at any time. Probably would once he had somewhere to go. His lips pull into a tight line. And now he had Ishtar to babysit and to try to survive. Bakura had been right; Marik knew how to survive. That's why Ishtar existed at all. He straightens his neck, staring off as the sun's last light faded to a blur of orange and pink on the horizon.

As silent as the ghost he looks like, Ryou stands at Marik's side, watching the sunset as well. The colors catch in his white hair, giving it a fiery glow. His face and clothes are still dirty as he sticks his hands in his pockets. "It's done. We can go to town tomorrow and arrange the sale." Marik nods without looking at him. It still feels wrong, to steal from the dead, even if it was his father. "I left Bakura to watch over dinner. I do hope he doesn't burn the place down." A grin twitches on Marik's face. "He's hungry enough that I think he won't. He did complain about the lack of meat." Ryou extends his hand between them, the ring laying on his palm catching the dying light. "I think this is supposed to be yours."

The tomb keeper stops breathing for a moment. The obsidian stone in the gold band looks exactly like the ring from his memories. The ring passed from father to son before death, Marik being the first break in a chain that stretched back for thousands of years. His fingers tremble as he picks it up. The adornment is as much a part of his legacy as the scars on his back. He slips it on the middle finger of his right hand, finally releasing a heavy breath. "Thank you, Ryou." Marik loops his arm around the other man's shoulders, pulling him closer and kissing his hair. "Thank you."

The Brit wraps his arms around his waist, resting his head on his shoulder as they watch the twilight chase after the sun. They stand quietly, Marik spinning the ring with his thumb. Ryou eventually breaks the reverie. "He asked about us, if you were my boyfriend. I said I didn't kiss and tell."

Marik groans. "I'm sure he jumped to all sorts of conclusions." Ryou hums in affirmation. "Well. At least he knows, I suppose. Does he... Did he say anything about how he feels about me?"

He doesn't want to lift his head to shake it. "No. I didn't get a chance to tell him that you're in love with him." He feels Marik stiffen under his cheek. "Don't bother denying it. You wouldn't have given up everything if you weren't in love. I'm not upset. I know what we did was because I look like him."

"That's not true." The Egyptian shifts to face the other man, setting his hands on his shoulders. "Maybe... Maybe that first night, just for a moment. But I knew who I was with. I knew who was sighing my name. He wouldn't say it as sweetly as you." His palms slide up his neck to cup his face, tilting it up as he closes the distance between them. "I doubt he tastes as sweet either." Their lips meet in featherlight contact, the first kiss they've shared since Marik had to cut Ryou's hand. Even the brief contact steals the shorter man's breath, grip on the other's waist tightening.

Dark eyes framed by ivory lashes open slowly as Marik pulls away. He swallows a few times to find his voice, surprising himself with how rough it sounds to his ears. "We should go in. Dinner will be ready soon." He receives a kiss on his forehead before pivoting, fingers finding Marik's easily as he leads the way back underground.

 

* * *

Ishtar kneels and hums to himself in the dark room. The melody is nonsense, pieces of songs that he's put together himself but it makes noise. He can't stand the silence. It makes him twitchy, makes him need to lash out, makes him want to remind the universe that he exists. The cut on his cheek itches as it heals and he tries to rub it on his shoulder for relief, snarling when he can't quite reach it in his bindings. The rope itches too, the fibers scraping against his skin. He can tell he's broken skin on his wrists from constantly twisting them in an attempt to free himself. So he stops. And hums to himself.

"He's insane." Bakura digs the chef's knife he's claimed into the table. "I don't know why you don't just let me take care of it."

Ryou doesn't look up from his tea. "No murder."

"It's been over twenty-four hours!" He stabs the blade into the wood.

"No. And stop ruining my knife. You're going to sharpen that for me."

Marik sighs, poking at the dinner he barely touched. "Let him have the knife. We can use some of the money to buy you a new one when we go to town." He pushes his dish away as he sits back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest. "We have to break him."

"What?! Marik..."

"Now you're talking."

The golden haired man holds his hand up to stop them both. "Mentally. He will make all the promises he can and do everything we want him to, but that's just an act. If we let him loose, he'd kill us and he'd kill indiscriminately until someone else killed him. That's not how I want to go out."

"We could knock him out and leave him in the desert for the buzzards," Bakura offers. Ryou clicks his tongue. "Stop doing that at me!"

Marik kicks Bakura under the table, earning a glare but accomplishing the goal of directing his ire from Ryou. "What if," he starts, toying with his earring. "Gods, I can't believe I'm suggesting this. What if we used the Rod on him?"

Ryou sips his tea, thinking. "I don't think he could resist its power. He might hold out for some time, but it would work. What kind of life is that though? To be a mind slave to us?"

"What kind of life is it to be tied up in some tomb?" Marik and Ryou stare at Bakura in obvious surprise. "What? Hey, I want to kill the crazy bastard. That would solve our problem. I'm a problem solver." Ryou rolls his eyes and takes another drink of his tea while Marik stands to clear his dish. "It's true though. He can't go outside like this." Neither of them miss how Marik's back tenses. "Under the Rod, he can."

"Then we're decided. We'll use the Rod." Ryou sighs and sets his tea mug down. "I wish there was a better way."

The tomb keeper returns to his own seat, covering Ryou's hand with his own. "So do I." Bakura scowls and turns his face away. With a small squeeze of their fingers, Marik pulls his hand back, leaning forward on his elbows. "Bakura, I'm going to need the Rod back from you."

Bakura's head whips back around to them. "Me?! I don't have it. Why would you think I have it?"

"You don't? It was in the altar room and I don't recall seeing it when I went back to blow the candles out." Ryou frowns, trying to remember. "Marik left, and then I did. You were the last person in the room."

"Give it up, Bakura."

"I don't have it," he snarls. "Did you check your boyfriend's ass?" Marik lunges across the table, grabbing the front of the former spirit's shirt as he bares his teeth. Bakura's fingers tighten on the hilt of the knife, ready to defend himself.

"STOP!" Ryou pushes on Marik's chest as his other hand tries to uncurl Bakura's fingers from the knife. "Stop, please. For me. Bloody hell." Marik pushes Bakura back and sits down with a huff, both of them still glaring at each other. "Thank you."

Marik jabs his finger into the air at Bakura. "If he doesn't have it and I don't have it and..."

"I don't have it," Ryou answers.

Bakura growls. "Then who the bloody hell has it?"

From down the tunnels, the sound of Ishtar's constant humming changes pitch, going higher than before. The three men at the table fall into silence as they stare at each other.

In his shadow-filled makeshift prison, Ishtar's song sputters and dies, the dark hallways echoing with his laughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "Desert Rose" by Sting (featuring Cheb Mami). Thank you to SerenityXStar for the suggestion!


	6. Chapter 6

Bakura stalks down the tunnel, Ryou and Marik on his heels, his lantern clutched tightly in one hand, the knife in the other. His teeth grind together, vision going hot in his rage. The manic giggling doesn’t halt even as they enter the room. The ropes creak where they connect to the walls as Ishtar rocks back and forth. The former Ring spirit cannot tolerate the latest insult to his pride. His mortality. His host. His… Marik. His Millennium item. The Rod was never his, but he feels if any of them deserve to wield it, it’s him. Bakura drops the lantern to the floor to deliver a vicious left-hook to Ishtar’s right cheek. “Motherfucker! Where is it?” He grabs their prisoner’s hair, pulling harshly on the spiked locks, growling. The knife hovers dangerously close to Ishtar’s eye. “Start talking or I’m going to start cutting."

Behind him, he hears Ryou gasp, but he’s mostly surprised that neither of the other men tries to stop him. Ishtar grins, completely unperturbed by Bakura’s threats. “Where is what, _djinni_? If you haven’t noticed, I’m a little tied up right now.” He actually leans closer to the knife. “Are you here to tease me with that thing again?” He makes a show of licking his lips, wetting them and leaving them parted as he looks up at Bakura.

The knife flashes as Bakura steps under the ropes to circle behind his captive. His pale fingers return to the golden honey hair, yanking his head back. The silver of the steel blade shines in the lantern’s light as he holds it to his exposed throat. Bakura lowers his head, almost whispering tenderly in Ishtar’s ear. “Where is the bloody Rod, you manky bastard?” He lifts his eyes to Marik and Ryou. The Englishman’s brown eyes show concern but for whom, he can’t discern. In Marik’s violet eyes, he sees only a cold pride and he hopes it’s for him. His fingers tighten slightly when he meets the Egyptian’s eyes, a fact that unfortunately Ishtar notices.

“Still carrying a torch for _nafsi_?” Ishtar stretches his neck out far enough that the edge faintly sinks into his skin, a red line forming. “A literal torch since you’re scared of your own shadow now! How does it feel to know that I’m better than you? That I survived the darkness for longer? That I’m fearless? That I have the Rod!” He laughs, the knife cutting deeper as he does.

“Bakura!” Ryou doesn’t try to physically stop him for once, rooted to the floor next to Marik. “Ishtar. Please, please… You’re getting hurt. You’re hurting him.”

Ishtar, for his part, seems content to listen to Ryou. Bakura, however, growls and uses his grip in the other’s hair to shake his head even though it makes the blade slide across his bronzed skin. “He has the Rod! I’m only doing what’s needful. Marik! Marik, tell him.”

Marik’s dispassionate eyes bounce between all of them, finally resting on his duplicate’s. “Put the knife down, Bakura. You can’t kill him.” A grumble of reluctance, a relieved sigh, and a disappointed humph meet his words. Marik waits as Bakura hides the knife away in his pocket. “Use your hands instead.”

The former shadow-demon lets out a dark chuckle from behind the kneeling man. “Gladly.” He grabs his hair and twists, tugging his neck into an awkward angle and using his other hand to pinch the nerves near his shoulder. “Where is the Rod?”

“You’re a tomb robber! You find it,” Ishtar spits out at him, eyes blazing with fury.

“Tell us and this ends and we can all get some sleep.” Marik folds his arms over his chest. When only an insult to his mother is given, he nods once to Bakura who applies more pressure to the nerves. “Where is the Rod, Ishtar?” No answer. Bakura digs his thumb into the cut along his throat. “The Rod.” Ishtar only sneers.  Bakura wedges his nail into the cut, pulling on the tender flesh. “Where is it?”

A distressed noise finally leaves Ishtar, amethyst eyes locking onto Ryou. He’s physically vulnerable, half naked, bound, and bloodied. “Don’t…” Ryou takes a small step closer. “Bakura, Marik, don’t do this. We’re better than this. We don’t have to do this.” Neither of them listen to him and on Bakura’s next move, Ishtar doesn’t hold back a pained grunt. “Guys, please. We can find the Rod ourselves. Don’t do this anymore.” Again, his words are ignored and when he sees tears in Ishtar’s eyes, he’s had enough. “I’m sorry.”

Bakura is too focused on inflicting pain to be aware of Ryou’s actions. It isn’t until he hears the distinct click and the room plunges into darkness that he realizes what his former host has done. His hands tighten their hold on Ishtar out of reflex, the pounding of his heart loud in his ears. He tells himself it will be okay, Ryou will turn the light back on, but all he hears is Marik and Ryou arguing as though he’s listening to them from underwater. Ishtar hisses as he struggles out of Bakura’s grip, both of them panting for different reasons. Thankfully, he’s too frozen to go for his knife because he jumps back as a lean muscled arm comes around him. Another click, much softer this time, makes its way through his muddled hearing and a small flame springs to life in front of him.

“You’re okay,” Marik reassures him, handing him the lighter carefully. “A bad influence on Ryou, but okay. I’m right here.” His tan hand strokes over Bakura’s platinum hair as he tries to soothe him. “I’m always right here.” Ishtar snorts at their feet at that. “Come on. Let’s go find your flashlight.” Bakura allows Marik to guide him back under the rope and out of the room, trying to get him to a torchlight hall as quickly as possible.

Ryou digs his palms into his eyes as the guilt of playing on Bakura’s phobia hits him. “I shouldn’t have done that. But they weren’t listening. He’s going to kill me.”

A hoarse voice answers him. “If he tries, I’ll serve you his innards for dinner.” Ryou drops his hands to stare incredulously at Ishtar. He hangs limply from his restraints, bloody and bruised. “Thank you, Ryou.”

“Just tell them where you hid the Rod. I’m not sure I can do that again.” Ishtar doesn’t answer, head dropping forward. Ryou walks over and runs his fingers gently through his hair. “I’ll get some water and clean you up. I’d say stay here, but…” He pats Ishtar’s head and heads out in the opposite direction of the other men.

The only answer is the sound of a blade sawing slowly through rope.

 

* * *

“I’ll kill them both! I’m going to flay that fucker and then I’m going to wring my host’s neck!” Bakura rages from the safety of the well-lit kitchen, stomping from end to end of the small room. His hands flex into tight fists, straighten, and curl in again. His face is flushed, both from his anger and from his shame in having a panic attack over the darkness. “I’ll make Ryou watch as I slice Ishtar and then, when Ishtar is almost dead, I’ll kill Ryou in front of him. Then! Then I’ll kill Ishtar.”

Marik sits backwards in his chair, arms crossed over the back and chin propped on his wrists. He is finally learning that Bakura seems to spout off with violent threats when angry but, except for the initial slap and, well, everything with Ishtar, he hasn’t actually hurt them. Violet eyes track him across the room. “And what of my fate? What about me, Bakura?”

The sound of the other man’s voice and the way he says Bakura’s name has him drawing up short, focusing on him. “Excuse me?”

The tomb keeper shrugs without lifting his head. “I won’t let you kill Ryou. You would have to kill me to put your hands on him.” Marik clings to the coldness he’d embraced as he watched Bakura torture his other self. Otherwise his eyes would reveal all the conflicted emotions that threaten to give him a headache right now. “So what about me?”

Mahogany eyes narrow at violet ones. With a huff, he pivots to the camp sink they used, turning away from Marik. He scrubs furiously at his hands and nails. “Fine. I’m not going to hurt Ryou. I just…” His hands slow and pause, wrinkling his nose. “I have all this rage and I have to express it. But I wouldn’t hurt Ryou. Not anymore.” His attention returns to his hands.

“I know.” Quiet words, no less sure for their gentleness.

Bakura grumbles as he grabs the towel to dry his hands, leaning back against the sink to face Marik. “I’ll take tonight’s watch of him.” He folds the towel, an old habit from having shared a body with Ryou. “We can’t all three sleep at the same time and trust him not to try something. You and Ryou look like you haven’t slept in a month.”

Marik pouts. “Gee, thanks. It’s not like I was busy trying to bring you back from the Shadow Realm or anything. And I still look damn fine.” He self-consciously toys with his hair and earrings as though he’s trying to reassure himself of this fact.

“Regardless,” he replies, avoiding the topic of Marik’s attractiveness, “you need it and so does Ryou. I can look for the Rod too. He couldn’t have gone far into the tunnels so I’ll make a loop of it.” The former shadow-demon smirks. “That should keep me from killing Ishtar. At least for one more night.”

 

* * *

Ryou kneels next to Ishtar as he wipes the damp cloth over his face and neck. “I wish we had some ice for your cheek.” Gentle fingers prod the tender bruise. “You’re going to swell. Does it feel like anything is broken?”

Ishtar remains completely docile for the Brit, sitting still on his heels. “I wouldn’t know what broken feels like, little mouse.” He notes how the high curves of Ryou’s cheeks color pink at the nickname and thinks the blush is rather enchanting. “It… hurts.” The word leaves his lips as though he’s never said it before. Pain is certainly not something he’s ever associated with himself. Pain was something he inflicted on others, a tool he wielded with as much skill as the Rod. It was not a concept he had grasped before the Shadow Realm, but his throbbing face, aching arms, stinging lacerations, and twinging ribs defined the word pain far too well for him now.

“I’m sorry.” His caretaker frowns in concern, pushing Ishtar’s hair off his face. “I won’t let Bakura hurt you anymore.” He resumes washing the blood away, the color on his face spreading and deepening as he rubs the cloth over the other’s bare chest.

He snorts softly, leaning toward him as much as he can without lifting off his heels or putting too much pressure on the ropes. “Do you think you can control the _djinni_? I seem to remember he had better control of you.”

“When he was in the Ring, Bakura took over my body. He never controlled me.” Brown eyes meet amethyst ones, a kinder, distorted mirror of their other halves’ moment in the kitchen. “I’m not afraid of him.”

Ishtar searches those eyes, for what he’s not certain, but he eventually nods. He dips his head down until their cheeks almost touch, voice softer than he’s ever used in Ryou’s ear. “I believe you.” His mouth twitches up in a smile at the way even the shell of the man’s ear turns pink. His tongue is out over his lips, intent on licking his ear, when Ryou’s fingers slide into his hair to cup the back of his head, holding him still as Ryou shifts and presses their cheeks fully together. The simple connection steals his breath, eyes widening as he stares into his snowy tresses. Ryou smells of tea and parchment and mint and Ishtar suddenly wants nothing more than to bury his face into his hair and inhale deeply of the intoxicating mix.

And far too soon, Ryou pulls away with a sweet smile, getting to his feet. His captive is stunned as he looks up at him, feeling the loss of that moment more sharply than any of his other injuries. Pale fingers glide through his hair and down to his cheek and Ishtar finds himself tipping his head into the caress. “I’ll check on you later.” His thumb tenderly brushes over the other man’s lips. “ _Asadi_ ,” the Englishman murmurs, surprising Ishtar once more before he walks away.

He’s so lost and confused by the exchange with Ryou that, for the moment, Ishtar forgets about the knife clenched firmly under his thighs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nafsi = myself  
> asadi = my lion
> 
> Chapter title from "Monster" by Imagine Dragons.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Explicit/Lemon/NSFW. If that's not your thing, skip to the first line break.
> 
> You can thank SerenityXStar who told me to add more to the first scene.

“I have a headache.” Marik throws his t-shirt carelessly to the floor, his hair sticking out in every angle. He smooths it down as he walks around what had been his childhood bedroom and blows out the candles. He leaves one candle burning next to the bed, standing beside it. Tan fingers work over khaki pants, pushing the fabric even lower on his narrow hips until they also fall to the floor like his shirt. He stares down at the bed, clad only on a pair of purple boxers. It was his favorite color after all. “It’s been a really long fucking day.”

Ryou sits up on his elbows, white hair falling over his shoulders, and pats the space on the bed next to him. “Come lay down then.” The flickering light of the candle casts shadows over his skin and hair, planes and curves Marik’s hands had learned in complete darkness. He keeps the sheet low over his hips even as his feet peek out from the bottom edge. It had surprised Marik the first few nights to learn Ryou slept naked. It had been a habit he picked up from Bakura and Marik tried not to think about that too much.

The Egyptian crawls onto the bed, pausing as he slips over his bedmate to kiss his lips lightly before settling down next to him and pulling the sheet over himself. Neither of them had really discussed sharing the bed. There was only one, Ryou was exhausted from his flights the first night, Marik fell into the bed without thinking some time later, and they’d slept together from then on. The shorter man leans over extinguishes the final candle, the darkness filling the room. Marik rolls to his back, arms behind his head and he feels Ryou shift to his side as he settles his hand over Marik’s heart. “You shouldn’t have done that to Bakura.” His voice is quiet, the reprimand having no sting to it.

“I’ll apologize when he’s not threatening to kill me. I only did it because of what he was doing to Ishtar.” His fingers trace patterns over his chest, one of their habits, and Marik yet again wonders if they’re random or if he’s being marked somehow. “I can’t let him be hurt. I’m sorry.”

Marik scoops up his hand, kissing his fingertips one by one. “I know. I don’t want Ishtar hurt either, but we need the Rod.” Once he’s kissed Ryou’s palm, he sets his hand back onto his chest. The patterns, whatever they may be, comfort him most nights. Tonight, his head is throbbing dully, rubbing his forehead even as he presses closer against Ryou. “My head hurts.”

“So you said.” Pale fingers move over bronzed skin, gliding over his abdomen. Ryou attempts to kiss his cheek, finding his elbow instead. “Put your arm down.” Once he does, the Brit leans over him, achieving his sweet kiss. His fingers never stop moving though he’s only writing the alphabet or numbers or sometimes silly words like pyramid or dice or sweetheart. Marik never asks and Ryou never offers to explain. Some things are better left unsaid.

Ryou’s fingers nudge at the elastic of Marik’s boxers and dip under the material. A strong grip latches onto his wrist to stop him. He pauses but doesn’t pull back. When Marik doesn’t push his hand away, Ryou kisses his way from his cheek over his jaw to his neck, kissing softly at the warm skin there. The tomb keeper tips his head to the side, offering his neck with a sigh. Ryou tries to slip his fingers a bit lower as he feels Marik relax. “Bakura…”

The name makes Ryou pause, heart stuttering for a moment, thinking that Marik called him by the other’s name. He doesn’t move, feeling Marik’s pulse beat steady against his lips. Ryou flicks his tongue against the spot. Marik’s fingers squeeze on his wrist. “What if he comes in?”

Ryou’s breath pushes out of his nose in relief. He wasn’t confused, but rather concerned if they were caught. They’d certainly never had to worry about that before. “He won’t come in here,” Ryou assures him. “It’s pitch dark. We can be quiet. Let me take care of you.” His hand pushes more insistently at the edge of his boxers. “I can make you feel better.” After another moment, Marik pulls his hand away and Ryou plunges his hand under the material. He almost purrs to find Marik almost half hard already, running one fingertip up the length, thumb brushing over his head as he encourages his erection. His lips part, sucking on a tiny patch of skin.

“N-no marks!” Marik hisses the words as his hips lift, his body trying to increase the contact of Ryou’s caress. Ryou hums to indicate that he’s heard the request, licking a long stripe up the side of his throat instead. Marik bites his lip as he melts against him, cock hard and warm under Ryou’s touch. He tips his face up, finding Ryou’s mouth in the dark, just like they’ve done so often, kissing him. Marik darts his tongue over the other man’s lips as Ryou fists his length, sliding his palm up to his head and back down to the base in a smooth motion. It earns him another roll of those gorgeous hips, Marik’s body clearly on board with Ryou’s intentions.

The Brit parts his lips, letting Marik’s tongue in, sighing as Marik reaches up to thread his fingers through the white strands. He lets his fingers travel lower, teasing Marik’s balls, grinning into the kiss as he arches, spreading his legs wider. He palms his balls, tracing the line between them like Marik likes and then Ryou is back to stroking his dick. He uses his thumb to press up into the little bundle of nerves under the head, swallowing the moan Marik makes against his mouth.

It’s something they’ve done countless times to comfort each other during the night and he knows each little trick to bring Marik closer to the edge. Ryou palms the tip, collecting the precum there and using it to lubricate the slide of his hand back over his shaft, the weight of it heavy on his fingers. Marik’s kisses get wetter and messier the faster Ryou jacks him until Marik is panting against his mouth, lifting and dropping his hips in counterpoint to each pull.

Ryou’s own erection presses into Marik’s hip and he squeezes lightly on the next upstroke, causing Marik to gasp and tense.  When Marik wraps his fingers around Ryou’s dick, neither of them can quiet their moans. There’s no finesse to Marik’s motions with as close to the edge of he is. His fingers tighten, tugging on Ryou’s hair, making the other man groan louder. A few more strokes and one sharp pull of Ryou’s hair and Marik’s body tenses, cumming over Ryou’s hand under his boxers. The fabric catches most of the mess and Ryou rubs off what sticks to his fingers.

Marik doesn’t stop to catch his breath, hand moving from Ryou’s hair to his shoulder and pushing him down onto the bed as he rolls over the smaller man, wedging himself between his legs. With one stolen kiss, he slips down his body, licking over his cock and around his head before swallowing his entire length. Ryou cries out at the sudden wet warmth covering his dick, hands fisting in Marik’s hair. It’s more to give his hands something to do as he doesn’t dare pull his hair or push him to take more. He can only hold on as Marik bobs his head, faster and faster.

He’s never seen Marik suck him off in the darkness but he can picture it – Marik’s hair disheveled around his face, a flush over his high cheekbones which stand out in sharp relief, his lips swollen and dark and wet. Ryou’s body warms, envisioning it, whimpering softly. Marik swirls his tongue around his head, dipping the tip into his slit, humming as he swallows him to the base again. Ryou has never dared ask how Marik got so damn good at oral, but he thanks god for his skills. He feels Marik’s teeth scrape lightly over his head, the implication of pain making his dick twitch against his tongue. Ryou’s eyes roll back as his orgasm slams through him, bucking up, and crying out when he cums down Marik’s throat.

The Egyptian slowly lifts his head, licking away the taste of Ryou on his lips and pulling himself back up his body, a shiver going through the Englishman. They exchange a tender kiss, both panting and sticky with sweat and cum, curling into each other’s arms as they drift off easily into sleep.

 

* * *

He was frozen in place in the tunnel. He’d been stuck there leaning against the wall for several minutes, unable to move, unable to see into the dark, only listening to the noise. He hadn’t meant to be out there. Bakura had simply meant to pass by on his way to another part of the tomb, keeping his steps silent, thinking not to disturb the two men sleeping. That’s what he was supposed to be doing and they were supposed to be resting.

Yet a small gasp from the darkened bedroom interior had caught his attention and he paused, thinking he’d inadvertently tripped a security trap. While waiting for the supposed trap to spring, his heart jumped from his throat to his stomach as two moans came out of the bedroom. They were… Bakura swallowed thickly because while he couldn’t see what they were doing, he could imagine. His back had hit the wall, dizzy with want and burning with jealousy, stuck there, listening to them.

When his former host had cried out, twice, he’d had to grab his own dick, squeezing through the gifted khakis to keep his own erection in check. He lifted his eyes to the ceiling, cursing gods he no longer believed in for his nyctophobia, for not being brave enough to enter their dark bedroom, for overhearing their moment, for his very existence. Bakura hadn’t realized he was crying until he felt something on his face and wiped away the tears he hadn’t noticed.

With steps as silent as the thief he never was, Bakura creeps back down the tunnel, away from the lovers, doubly intent on finding the Rod now.

 

* * *

It had taken him several hours, but finally Ishtar had sliced the rope from around his left wrist. He kept it grasped in his hand, not ready to reveal his impending freedom quite yet. He’d tracked Bakura as he prowled the tunnels until that proved boring and allowed himself to doze.

There were no dreams in the Shadow Realm, only living nightmares, and when he fell into the dream, he’d been confused at first. His hands were paws, golden paws with sharp claws, used to bring death. He shook his head, a mane flying around his face and ears, and tipped his head back, opening his muzzle to roar at the sky. A lion then. A pale dot on the horizon attracted his attention. His tail swished once, twice, and then he raced after it. He didn’t recognize the animal and as a lion, he didn’t care, only focused on the hunt, the impending kill.

Overhead, a golden eagle called, circling his path, the bird’s voice a warning for the creature ahead. It was enough and Ishtar’s prey galloped away, body shimmering in the dream-light. Ishtar screamed his frustration at the eagle and his lost victim, the roar reverberating across the landscape. With a huff, he dropped to the ground, startling at an indignant squeak in front of his paws. A field mouse, white fur bright and clean against the dusty soil, scampered over his legs, climbing onto his muzzle to look into his eyes. The lion and the mouse stared at each other and Ishtar registered a whiff of mint tea before the mouse squeaked again and clambered through his mane to perch on his head. In the distance, he could see the eagle swoop down to the white beast he’d hunted but with the mouse curled into his fur, Ishtar the lion couldn’t find it in him to charge again, the bloodlust drained away.

Ishtar wakes slowly, feeling that someone is with him in the room, light pressing against his eyelids. It dims as he stirs and opens his eyes, his mind still half in his dream. All he sees is a flash of white hair disappearing into the tunnels as the darkness swallows the room again, his prey running from him once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "Secret" by Madonna.


	8. Chapter 8

Bakura stands just beyond the tomb's door, face lifted to the sky as black fades into blue, lantern at his feet. He'd spent most of the night hunting for the Rod and came up empty. If pressed, though, he would begrudgingly admit that he maybe was not in top form. Not with Marik's soft moans and Ryou's sharp cries still ringing in his ears. He pulls his trench coat tighter around his chest and shivers in the predawn light. It hurt, his chest, and it was an unfamiliar feeling. The former Ring spirit knew what it was, what it meant. He'd felt it a few times when he shared a body with Ryou. He had just never experienced it himself. He had his own heart now and now knew the pain of what it meant to no longer be heartless.

The smell of coffee reaches him before he hears the soft footfalls approaching, Bakura lowering his chin but not turning. A mug full of steaming black coffee appears before him, an offering of warmth and comfort in the chilly morning. Tan fingers hold the mug and Bakura takes it without a word, sipping the hot liquid even though it stings his tongue. "You remembered."

"It's not exactly like it's complicated," Marik explains, sipping his own coffee. "The darkest, strongest brew you can find, served hot enough to scald and pitch black. Of course I remembered." They stand side by side, drinking their coffee as the first pink tinge appears along the eastern horizon. All too soon, the sun will chase the morning chill from the air but for now, the coffee warms them. "Any luck?"

Bakura shakes his head, eyes dropping to his mug. "I'll keep looking. There has to be something I missed, some little thing. I'll look more today."

"About that," Marik says and sips his coffee. "I need to go to the _souk_ to sell the gold and get supplies. I was hoping you would go with me." He watches Bakura from the corner of his eye. "You haven't left the tomb since you returned."

"Why me?" Bakura finishes his coffee, frowning. "Why not Ryou?" He doesn't like the way his heart twinges at that, but the words are out before he can stop them.

The Egyptian tilts his head as he answers. "Ryou's been. I have to go since neither of you are fluent in Arabic. I'm selling a lot of gold and I'd rather have you there for security." He pauses as he finishes his coffee as well. "And, well..." He sighs and steps around to face Bakura, hair light gold against the fading night, black kohl around his eyes seeming even darker. "I want you to go. I want to take you and show you my life. I want to share this with you."

The former shadow-demon stares into those violet eyes. His heart is a steady beat in his ears, reminding him of his mortality, of his ability to be hurt. "Why me?"  
  
Marik toys with one of his earrings and looks over Bakura's shoulder at the hint of dawn in the sky. The glow backlights Bakura in ethereal pink, coloring the edges of his spiky hair even as it casts his face in shadows. He can't answer him, can't speak the truth behind his actions, the words choking him.

"Damn it, Marik! Why me?!" Bakura's dark eyes blaze, his own throat working as it goes tight. "Why do you want me to go? Why... Why did you bring me back?" The other man doesn't reply, though his eyes do return to meet Bakura's. The mug shatters as Bakura tosses it to the ground. "Gods damn you! Answer me! WHY?!" His scream echoes through the desert, soundwaves bouncing off sand dunes.

The target of his desperate rage never flinches, his gaze never wavering in the face of his fury. He didn't want to confess everything like this, not here, not with Bakura angry. He had something different in mind like dinner at the very least. Fate though has never been kind to him and never acknowledges his plans, not matter how diligently he lays everything out and anticipates every eventuality. Marik's voice is soft in contrast to Bakura's volume, never looking away.

"Because I love you."

The simple declaration hits Bakura as sharply as he did Marik when he first returned. He can only gape, finding it hard to breathe, heart jumping in his chest. "...you..." He can't even repeat the words. "No... No, Marik, you don't. You can't."

The darker man's eyes widen slightly. "Fuck you," he hisses. "Fuck you, Bakura. Don't you dare tell me what I can or cannot feel. I fucking love you!" His voice breaks, tears welling along his lower lash line. "I was wrecked when you disappeared after the duel. I cried myself to sleep for weeks. Weeks, Bakura! I could barely function. The only thing that broke me out of my own darkness was when I decided to save you. I worked and studied and stole and killed and gave up everything, everything, Bakura, just in the hope that I could see you again. That I could tell you how I felt. Because we never got a goodbye. Because I never wanted a goodbye with you. I damned myself to a life I never wanted because... Because I love you." Marik's arms cross over his chest protectively, wiping at his eyes with the heel of his palm. "Shit."

He'd known. Some part of him had known, even before the shadows reclaimed him. It's why Marik was his one regret. But he doesn't know love. He's seen it, felt it secondhand through Ryou's emotions, but he doesn't know it, not for himself. Or he didn't until the man standing before him came into his life. He's still unsure though because how does one know if it's love rather than infatuation or deep friendship or just simple lust? The thought of lust crosses his mind and suddenly he's back, glued to his spot in the tunnel, the noises from the bedroom unnaturally loud in his head. "Ryou," he chokes out the name. "Last night, you and he..."

The color on Marik's face deepens as he blushes but he doesn't try to avert his eyes or deny what the other man overheard. "He knows how I feel about you." He steps closer, keeping his arms folded over his chest. "Ryou knows I love you." He's pressing and he knows he'll probably only earn another slap for it but he doesn't stop until he's almost nose-to-nose with Bakura. "And I do. I have for years. I love you, Bakura."

Bakura lets himself get lost in those hopeful eyes, eyes that haunted his thoughts in the Shadow Realm when he'd wanted nothing but one more chance. And here it was, standing strong and proud in front of him and saying he loved him. His tongue licks over his lip nervously, swallowing as he tries to find his voice. "I don't..." He means to say he doesn't know, he's not sure he can love, but there's the barest flicker of Marik's lashes and he does know. Maybe it's not the way Marik needs or deserves, but Bakura knows though the words strangle him. Pale hands grab Marik's upper arms tightly, pulling him closer until their bodies touch, Bakura's head tipping up slightly to look into his eyes. Those violet eyes widen in surprise, grasping at his shoulders. Bakura still can't say it but he can show him. He stretches the few inches and when Marik's lips part to question the embrace, Bakura closes his eyes and presses their lips together.

There's a muffled noise of surprise when Bakura kisses him, lashes fluttering before they fully close. When Bakura tries to pull away at the sound, Marik buries his fingers in his hair, whining against his lips for more. It's harsh and needy and Bakura has no finesse, but Marik wants it, wants all Bakura's rough edges and careless kisses, wants to have each breath stolen by another kiss. Bakura's tongue slips into his mouth, tracing over his teeth and plunging deeper, rolling their tongues together. Marik moans, heart racing as they cling to each other as the sun edges over the skyline.

Marik tastes like coffee and Bakura groans, nipping his lower lip before thrusting his tongue back into his mouth, hands clenching around his arms. The hands in his hair are as new as the feeling of kissing someone and he's not sure he could tolerate anyone but Marik touching his hair. But he is touching it, carding through the strands, and Bakura breaks the kiss to breathe, to throw his head back and yell triumphantly at the sky, hair cascading down his back for Marik's fingers. His grin when he looks back at Marik is brighter than the sunrise behind him, Marik's expression more fond as he gazes at him with heavy lidded eyes.

A delicate cough reaches them from the tomb entrance, Bakura wrenching his head around to look. Ryou sits perched on the steps, sipping a mug of tea, the duffle bag of raided gold next to him. "You're going to want to head out soon before it gets too hot. You can use my helmet, Bakura." Two faces flush, two sets of swollen lips licked, as they regard Ryou and his serene smile into his cup.

Bakura finds his voice first. "How long have you been there?" Ryou merely drinks his tea, shrugging one shoulder.

"Will you be okay? With him." Marik's hands trail from Bakura's hair over his shoulders and arms to his hands, squeezing lightly as he steps away. "We won't be able to get back to you until nightfall."

Ryou smiles up at him. "I evaded him once and knocked him out when he tried to hurt me. I'm not afraid of him. I'm more afraid of Bakura when he finds out that was the last of the coffee and there won't be any tomorrow if you don't leave now. I've already texted Ishizu for you." Marik looks down at him, searching his eyes, until Ryou tells him to go. His bronze hand gently brushes through Ryou's hair and cups his cheeks, fingers trailing behind him as he descends the steps to fetch the dirt bike and helmets. Ryou turns his chocolate eyes on Bakura once they're alone. "I guess I don't need to warn you about hurting him."

Platinum hair falls around his face as Bakura nods. "You're okay with this? How he feels about me? I heard you two last night." Ryou's cheeks go red, dropping his eyes to his tea. "I didn't mean to. I'm not a perv."

"No, it's alright. I only wanted..." Ryou gives a small smile. "I don't know where things will go from here and I wanted one more night with him. Are you cross with me?"

The former spirit considers the question. "No. I can't really blame you. I mean, have you seen him?" The corner of his mouth ticks up, smirking as Marik pokes his head back over the edge of the stairs.

"Seen who? Come help me with this, Bakura." Bakura thanks his luck when Marik disappears again and misses his blush. He hurries over, gripping a tire as it appears on the steps, Marik grunting as he pushes from below. Ryou sits by placidly with his tea. The bike crests the steps and Marik scurries around to push the kickstand down. "Seen who?" he asks again as he grabs the bag and secures it to the back of the bike.

"Your sweet ass," Ryou answers, setting his now empty cup down and walking over to Bakura. He offers a hair tie from his wrist. "You'll want this or you'll be days getting the tangles out." Bakura takes it with his thanks, pulling his silver hair back and quickly braiding it. Both Marik and Ryou stare at him in shock. He simply rolls his eyes and grabs the helmet, looking expectantly at Marik.

"Well. Hunh." Marik shakes his head and laughs, picking up his helmet. He gives Ryou a soft kiss on the cheek and pinches Bakura's ass before swinging his leg over the bike, preening at Ryou's blush and chuckling at how Bakura jumps on his toes. Marik turns the key in the ignition, the engine revving to life between his thighs. Bakura clambers on behind him, pulling his helmet on. "We'll be home for dinner." Marik tugs his own helmet down over his hair, dropping the visor down.

"Give Ishizu my love. And Bakura?" He turns to him in his borrowed helmet, brows arched though Ryou can't see it. "Hold on to him tightly."

Before Bakura can question why, Marik knocks back the kickstand, gunning the engine. Bakura barely has time to wrap his arms around his waist and cling for dear life as they head out across the desert, Ryou laughing in the morning sun behind them.

 

* * *

Deep in the tomb, in the darkened room that serves as his prison, the knife saws carefully through the rope until finally, Ishtar's right wrist is also free of his bindings. There he waits, laughing softly to himself in the shadows, a patient hunter ready to strike.

Ryou did say he would check on him after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Souk = market
> 
> Chapter title from "As Long as You're Mine" by Idina Menzel and Leo Norbert Butz (Wicked: Original Broadway Cast).


	9. Chapter 9

Marik parks and stows the bike behind a building on the edge of the little desert town. They had hit pavement about twenty kilometers out, for which Bakura's ass was exceedingly grateful. Marik removes his helmet and shakes out his hair, grinning as the din of what passes for a city surrounds them. He unstraps the duffle bag as Bakura dismounts and tugs off his helmet as well, smoothing a hand down his silver braid. "It looks good," Marik states, slinging the bag over his shoulder, helmet in hand. "Your hair like that."

It's easier, Bakura finds, to accept a compliment knowing the emotion behind Marik's words, almost as though they're freer to express themselves now. He smiles, falling into step beside the other man as he starts down the narrow street. "Did you have to take that one hill so fast? I only just got back and I thought you were going to kill me."

"Please. You loved it." Marik keeps his distance though he does turn to wink at Bakura. He weaves them through streets and alleys, mindful not to lose Bakura. He can hear the noise of the _souk_ as they get closer and he pauses. "It's going to be crowded and... listen, some people here have some very old value systems. If they thought we were together, the best we could hope for would be shunning. It's too far to go to another town so I'd like to still be welcome in this one, okay?"

Bakura nods, mouth set in a firm line. He's honestly more concerned about the people and being overwhelmed. He hadn't exactly been social when he used Ryou's body and he's only been exposed to the other three since being pulled from the Shadow Realm. He brushes the backs of their hands together, gesturing with his chin for Marik to proceed. They pop out into the market between two stalls, the vendors turning to look at them before going back to their sales. Marik arches a brow, getting his bearings, and Bakura is struck by how easily Marik fits into the scene, even with his hair and kohl.

"This way." Bakura follows Marik without question, dodging carts and shoppers, mouth watering once or twice as they pass a food stand. He's tempted to snatch a few things, especially the food, but he behaves, figuring the stolen gold over Marik's shoulder ought to be enough thievery for a day or so. Maybe. Depends on what he finds. "Bakura!" Marik stops in the doorway of a shop, calling the other out of his distractions. "In here." He ducks into the doorway, disappearing inside.

The darkness inside almost sends Bakura into another panic, but Marik stays close as his eyes adjust from the bright sun outside to the dim interior light. The shopkeeper greets Marik warmly which he returns before introducing Bakura. The exchange would have been lost on Bakura had he not caught his name, nodding at the stranger. He catches Ryou's name and looks to Marik. "Ah, he thought you were Ryou at first. Because you look alike. Sorry, I should have anticipated that."

The former spirit who had once possessed Ryou shakes his head and gives the shopkeeper an understanding smile. "Can you tell him that I'm Ryou's cousin and that we do have a strong family resemblance?" It wasn't a complete lie. He did feel as though Ryou was family. Marik interprets the words and the explanation seems to satisfy the man. He motions for Bakura to explore the shop as he and Marik talk. Marik gives him a look that clearly pleads for him not to steal anything before following the man into the back. "Probably nothing I'd want to steal anyways," he mutters good-naturedly as he starts looking around.

Marik's voice raises from the back once, attracting Bakura's attention before things seem to settle down. Bakura feels a surge of pride for the tomb keeper. He may have protested the grave robbing, but he didn’t hesitate to sell the treasure if it meant surviving. Or, fuck, providing since now he had three people to feed, two of whom he also had to clothe. A smirk twitches his lips when he thinks that Marik is basically the father of their quartet, wondering how he’d react to be called daddy – which makes him imagine calling Marik daddy in a completely different way. His face flushes, biting his lip as his borrowed khakis suddenly feel way too tight.

“Dead puppies,” he mutters to himself as he moves throughout the store, trying to kill his erection. “Golf. Tristan and Joey buggering.” The last almost makes him retch, something catching his eye as he bends. He turns to better see, crouching down to get eye level with the piece. A copper hair pin sits on the lower shelf, the metal polished and gleaming in the dim light. It’s an unadorned piece, plain next to the more bejeweled pieces around it, but Bakura’s fingers itch to take it. He’s giving the case an appraising look when Marik pops out from the back of the shop.

“Bakura?” He leans over the case, his smile fading when he sees the former spirit eying the display filled with gold and jewels. “Oh, no. Please tell me you didn’t-” He startles at the hand patting his shoulder, shifting to prevent the proprietor from hitting the edge of his scars. They exchange words, Marik casting nervous glances over his shoulder at Bakura who stands back on his feet.

“Marik. Ask him how much for the copper hair pin.” Both men stare at him, one in open shock, the other waiting for the interpretation. Marik complies, slowly, as though he can’t believe he’s asking. The shopkeeper beams, explaining about the piece and trying to point out the other fancier adornments in the case. Bakura shakes his head and points at the copper one. “That one.”

“Bakura,” Marik hisses. “It’s over four hundred pounds. Use Ryou’s hair tie. He has more.”

“Can we afford it?” The other man doesn’t answer him, eyes cutting to the salesman and back. “I want it,” Bakura insists. “For Ryou.” If Marik wasn’t already floored by the conversation already, he would have been on the ground. The shopkeeper picks up on Ryou’s name with a smile, saying something to Marik who nods. The man claps his hands, shooing Marik out of the way. He opens the case and pulls out the hair pin with a flourish. He wraps it in a cloth, chattering all the while, Marik’s eyes wide as they go from the man to Bakura and back. He presses the package into Bakura’s palm with a kind smile.

“ _Shukran_ ,” Marik murmurs. “He’s giving it to you since it’s for Ryou and we give him first dibs at anything we sell. I can’t… Tell him thank you. _Shukran_.” He’s still shaking his head even as he takes the man’s hand and picks the now empty duffel bag up from the floor.

“ _Shukran_ ,” Bakura repeats, securing the present in a pocket. The man replies and Marik nudges Bakura out of the shop, waving over his shoulder. They both blink in the bright sun, Marik immediately setting off down the street again.

“I can’t believe he just gave that to you. Did you bewitch him? Is that a Shadow Realm superpower?” Marik half mutters to himself as they walk. “Please, please tell me you didn’t steal anything. Especially not now.” Despite Bakura’s assurances that he didn’t, Marik still grumbles about the whole thing until he checks his phone. “Fuuuudge! We’re going to be late! Ishizu will kill me!” He dashes through the crowd, calling back to Bakura. “Hurry up!” Left wondering since when does Marik say fudge instead of fuck, Bakura threads his way after the golden haired man.

 

* * *

Ryou rather enjoys the quiet of the tomb, pulling his hair up with a spare hair tie as he tidies up. It would be an almost domestic routine if they weren’t in a crypt underground. He didn’t mind though. He had never been one to stay out in the sun, burning as easily as he did. Truthfully, he liked the atmosphere. Others may have found cemeteries or catacombs creepy or spooky but Ryou found them peaceful, hopeful almost with the promise of the afterlife. He fixes two bowls of oatmeal, the hot water from the kettle smelling vaguely of coffee and tea, adding a bit of honey to both breakfasts. The honey had been an extravagance but they were already living on camp food and Ryou insisted on having something for his sweet tooth. He slings the water skein over his shoulder and carries everything down the tunnel to Ishtar’s room. He has a plan.

Ishtar stirs when he hears Ryou enter, senses attuned in the dark from his years in the Shadow Realm. Ryou’s hair almost glows to his eyes, the white a bright spot in the black. He sniffs, the ever-present smell of tea clinging to the Brit, but now he catches something sweeter. He blinks against the light as Ryou sets one of the wall torches ablaze, noticing the bowl at his knees. “What’s this?”

“Breakfast.” Ryou settles on the floor next to him, scooping the spoon out of the bowl closest to Ishtar and holding the utensil before his mouth. “You’ll have to let me feed you, but I don’t mind. It’s oatmeal and honey. Not very fancy, but it’s sweet and filling.” Ishtar opens his mouth to make an innuendo about Ryou being sweet and filling, but the spoon inserted before he can speak. He humphs around the oatmeal, finding it warm and thick on his tongue and thinking that he could make the comparison to Ryou too. He swallows. “Good boy,” praises the other man.

The prisoner licks his lips and holds his mouth open for another taste and, Ra help him, but that doesn’t stop his perverted train of thought. Ryou serves him another spoonful and then gets one from his own bowl, smiling softly. Ishtar’s fingers itch where they clasp the ropes as he maintains the charade of the docile captive. A drop of oatmeal sticks to the corner of his mouth and Ryou brushes it away with his thumb. The touch almost makes Ishtar whimper, having to spread his knees some under the _shendyt_. The white haired man gives him a quizzical look that Ishtar doesn’t answer.

They eat the rest of their breakfasts quietly though almost every other bite, Ishtar could turn it into something dirty. He shifts to lean forward over his lap, ostensibly to prevent any oatmeal from falling onto him. In reality, he’s trying to cover the way the fabric around his hips is tenting, his cock heavy and hard between his thighs. Ishtar aches but he thinks it’s escaped Ryou’s notice when he moves the bowls out of the way. He doesn’t change his position as Ryou kneels in front of him, pale fingers examining the cuts and bruises. “Does anything hurt?”

Yes, his dick throbs, needing attention desperately. “No.”

“No, sir,” Ryou corrects, checking the bruise on his ribs. Ishtar doesn’t understand so he falls silent. Ryou lets it slide. “Breakfast was good?”

Good enough to leave him wanting release in more than one way. “Yes.”

Ryou grips Ishtar’s jawline, eyes dark as he holds his head steady for the eye contact. “Yes, sir. Say it.”

Ishtar’s amethyst eyes widen. He feels his heart start to race, palms going clammy around the ropes. He licks his lips, voice rough with longing. “…yes, sir.”

“Good boy.” Ryou rewards him by brushing his fingers through Ishtar’s hair. “ _Asadi_.” May the Shadows take him, but Ishtar almost purrs at that, tipping his head into the caress once more. “Do you like this?”

Ishtar hums until the hand in his hair stops, waiting. “Yes, sir.” He groans and leans into Ryou as the petting resumes. “The mouse wants to be in control, hm?”

Ryou smirks and drags his fingertips over Ishtar’s cheeks to catch his chin. “I am in control. Aren’t I?” His fingers trace down his throat, following the muscles of his shoulders and chest, blatantly admiring him now, the way the position keeps his muscles taut. His touch travels lower, appreciating how his abs tighten, how Ishtar hisses as he slides a finger over the waist of the _shendyt_. “You’re going to be good for me, aren’t you? If you misbehave, I will stop everything and leave you. Understand?”

No, he still doesn’t, blinking at Ryou in disbelief. “Are you offering to… What are you offering, _fa’r_?”

“To help.” Ryou doesn’t look away as he lightly palms Ishtar’s hard length through the cotton. He pulls his hand back. “But only if you want it and I’m dead serious about that. Tell me no now-”

“No!” Ishtar shouts. “Wait! Yes! Fuck. Fuck! I want it.” Ryou arches a white brow. “…sir.” The term earns him the weight of Ryou’s hand over his cloth-covered cock again. Fine, if this is the game Ryou wants to play, he’ll go along with it as long as he doesn’t stop. “Please. Please, sir.” He has a moment to wonder why Ryou needs to be in control but then Ryou has his hand under the kilted material, fingers wrapped around his shaft.

This time, it’s Ryou’s eyes that widen in surprise, color rising in his cheeks. “Bloody hell,” he whispers to himself. The ring of his fingers can’t close completely around him and he has to use his wrist more as he pushes down to the base of his dick. He slides back up, twisting slightly around the head. The move elicits a barely audible whimper from Ishtar. “Wait. Hold on. I need to get something.” He dashes from the room and Ishtar almost roars in frustration. He’s about to as he catches his breath but Ryou returns then, a small bottle in his hand. He pours some of the lube over his fingers and palm and his hand disappears under the cloth again.

Ishtar groans at the contact. The fluid and Ryou’s hand feel cool to his overheated skin. The slickness lets Ryou squeeze a bit as he tugs on him, Ishtar lifting and falling onto his heels as he tries to buck forward more into his grasp. It’s so good and he wants more, dick twitching. Ryou’s wet fingers abandon his cock, cupping his balls and though Ishtar loves it, opening his knees wider, the lack of touch around his shaft makes him whine. He drops his head forward onto Ryou’s shoulder, whining louder. “…please, sir.”

Ryou didn’t expect his plan to work quite so well, that Ishtar would be quite so pliant. It was a simple enough role play – act as Ishtar’s master until he obeyed of his own free will. Then Ishtar would reveal the Rod’s location and could be released. Yet when the taller man buries his face against Ryou’s neck, whimpering in relief as he gives attention to his thick cock, Ryou’s not entirely sure this is only a role play game anymore. “Do you like this?” His voice is thick and rough with desire, his own pants feeling almost uncomfortably tight. “Ishtar? Do you like this?” He spins his palm around his cockhead, the precum welling in the slit sticking to his hand.

“Yes! Yes, sir!” Ishtar’s voice breaks as his words disintegrate into soft noises. He’s rocking his hips as well as he can on his knees and Ryou presses them closer, chest to chest. The other man pants into his ear, movements becoming more sporadic the closer he gets. “Can I…? Sir?” He whines the last word, not above begging for permission.

Ryou grabs his own cock through his pants and squeezes, biting down on his lip as he tries to keep himself from cumming. “Y-yeah. Yeah, Ishtar. You can cum.” The body against him goes tense as he strokes faster, working his entire length. The surprising thing isn’t the way all Ishtar’s noises cease or the way he shudders once, twice as he releases all over Ryou’s wrist and the floor.

No, what makes Ryou’s heart stop, what sends ice through his veins, what quickly kills any erection, is two long bronze arms wrapping around him as Ishtar cums, fingers digging into his skin. His hand slows to a stop, swallowing before he can speak. “You… The ropes…” He hadn’t heard the ropes break. That meant either Ishtar had slipped free or… Bakura’s knife.

The body holding him starts shaking, quiet laughter in his ear. “Oops. Sir.” Ishtar emphasizes the word, tongue tracing Ryou’s ear, teasing him. He snaps his teeth next to his ear and grins sharply. “Run.”

Ryou needs no other encouragement, pushing away from Ishtar as he bolts from the room. Only the sound of laughter follows him.

For the moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shukran = thank you
> 
> Chaptier title from "Nothing but Trouble" by Phantogram.


	10. Chapter 10

Ryou slinks down a tunnel, twirling the frying pan in his right hand. He realizes he’s basically a horror movie trope but the chase exhilarates him. His heart races, blood pounding in his ears, skin flushed and damp with sweat. He shivers though he is too busy listening for his hunter to worry if it’s from fear or cold. He isn’t truly scared but he’s not ready to be caught yet either. The excitement of it all actually has him grinning. His palm and wrist are still sticky from the lube and the cum. Going from the high of getting Ishtar off to the rush of fear in their little cat and mouse game makes him giddy. The Brit leans his head back against the wall, ears straining for any noise.

Further down another tunnel in the darkness, Ishtar creeps along with Bakura’s knife in his left hand, a little bottle tucked into his _shendyt_. He was as familiar with the tomb as Marik and he wonders if Ryou knows that. Sure, there had been some changes made. He’d paused in front of their parents’ room which had been walled up. Ishtar doesn’t remember it like that so he figures it must have been done after he was banished. The altar room has also been stripped down, still void of any furnishings save the mostly melted candles on the floor. In the kitchen, he steals a fig from the stores, crinkling his nose at all the boxed items. Ishtar twists the stem off the fruit and bites into it, humming at the sweet taste as he continues off in search of his mouse.

The white haired man crawls under the table in the library once more. He doesn’t know the layout of the halls and rooms as well as he should, but he needs a place to regroup. He’s lost track of the time and his legs are aching from sprinting. He can see the door to the library from his hiding spot and if he’s still enough, either Ishtar could pass by without noticing him or he could come into the room and Ryou could bolt before he realizes. He holds his left hand over his heart as he tries to calm down and breathe deeply. He needs to get the situation under control. Another smile teases his lips. How quickly his role play had been undone when Ishtar held him. Yet he’d liked it, having his arms around him. Ishtar was long and warm and heavy and he’d felt different than Marik. Ryou’s cheeks heat and he redirects his thoughts away from the other way Ishtar and Marik differed.

Ishtar sucks the stickiness of the fig from his fingers. The hunt is getting tiresome. He returns to his bedroom, well Marik’s bedroom. He snarls at the homey nature of it, of all the signs of his other half trying to make peace with living in the tomb again. He reaches over and knocks over a stack of books. The noise they make pleases him and soon he’s whirling around the room, upending tables, the bed, throwing clothing around, and laughing at the destruction. He shreds a pillow, feathers floating through the air, and wants more. He remembers the tables and bookcases in the library, stalking down the halls, intent on creating chaos in there as well.

Ryou had just pulled himself out from under the table, thinking Ishtar was still down in the bedroom, thinking to move to the kitchen, when he hears him approach. He doesn’t have time to hide again and running would be as much a giveaway as staying still. And, damn it, he’s getting hungry. “Screw it,” he mutters and clambers up to perch on the tabletop, frying pan beside him.

The would-be hunter pauses in the doorway. The maniacal grin only stretches farther to see Ryou sitting in the middle of the table. Even in the dim light, Ryou’s alabaster hair and skin almost glow. Ishtar leans forward, beckoning him with the knife. “Come here, little mouse. This won’t hurt much.”

He grips the pan, holding it out before him. “It won’t hurt me at all.” Control. It’s all about control and he has to regain it. “Give me the Rod.” The demand is a dangerous gambit but he has to try.

Ishtar laughs at him. “Oh, I’d be happy to give you my rod.” He licks his teeth and grins wolfishly. “If you think you can take it.”

The color along Ryou’s cheeks deepens but he tips his chin up. “Sir,” he corrects. “I handled your rod quite well and you know it. Now don’t play dumb. It’s unbecoming. I want the Rod.”

“Again, I’d be happy to oblige.” The taller man steps closer, ignoring the frying pan, spinning the handle of the knife in his hand.

“Sir,” Ryou adds again, clicking his tongue. “The Rod.”

The blonde growls at the insistence that he act submissive. “Why would I simply hand over the most powerful object here? The last time you had an Item, it didn’t go so well for you.” Ishtar sneers, playing off the small feeling of guilt when Ryou flinches at his words. “I would have never willingly given up the Rod. Why do you think I would give it up now? Why would I give you that which I want most?”

With slow movements, Ryou sets the pan down on the table, using both hands to toy with the hem of his tee, tugging it over his head with a fluid motion. He shakes his hair out, letting it fall over his shoulders and frame his face. “Because that’s not what you want most any more. Is it, _asadi_?” He drops his voice, his eyes going heavy lidded. He’s never been seductive, not even flirty on his best day, but right now, it’s just another role play.

The tone change catches Ishtar off guard and his tongue peeks out over his lips. Ryou shifts to his knees, fingers playing over his belt. It joins his tee on the floor. He drops his head forward, hair hanging around his face as he pops the button on his pants. The sound of his zipper is loud in the library. He leaves the pants open, hanging low on his hips. Ishtar regards Ryou, Ryou’s exposed skin, like it’s water and he’s near death. “You.”

“Me,” Ryou confirms, stretching. “You can have me if you give me the Rod.”

 

* * *

"Ishizu!" Marik rushes ahead of Bakura who can’t see her for Marik’s head and shoulders. The height difference between them makes Bakura pause. He hadn't really noticed before but Ishtar and Marik were closer to the same height now though it was harder to tell with the other's spiky hair. The intervening years had meant nothing to Ishtar and him in the Shadow Realm. Here now, with Marik taller, stronger, and more at ease in his own space, the former shadow-demon can't deny the passage of time and what it's done while he was gone. Bakura stands back a little from the family reunion, lost in his own thoughts, when he feels a thud into his thighs, something wrapping around his legs.

"Unka Ru!"

The chirpy voice at his knees locks Bakura into place as he tenses. He had been prepared to draw the switchblade he'd lifted a couple stalls back, but finds himself staring into a set of bright blue eyes instead. "Uh... hello?"

The boy says something with all the assertiveness and lack of awareness of young children, pointing at Bakura's hair.

Bakura grits his teeth, preparing to snap, when Marik turns and notices the scene. "Amir!" Both the boy and Bakura look up at Marik who quickly pries the little one from Bakura's legs and scoops him into his arms. Bakura's even more lost as Marik starts speaking rapid Arabic to the toddler. The Egyptian fakes a pout to make Amir laugh.

Little hands pat Marik's cheeks and all Bakura can do is stare, mouth hanging open slightly. " _Khal_ Mary!" He babbles on with something that Marik seems to understand, shaking his head.

"Not today, _ibnu al-ukht_." He kisses the child's forehead before setting him back onto the ground. As they talk, Bakura's eyes bounce between Marik, the boy, and Ishizu who gives him a cold look before paying attention to Marik once more. Marik acts like he's wounded, hand over his heart, all dramatics for the little boy who giggles at his antics. The child rushes back to Ishizu who easily picks him up, chattering away at her. Bakura keeps hearing the mention of "Unka Ru" as the boy gestures to him, Ishizu still regarding him coolly.

"..Marik?" Bakura steps closer to the other man as Ishizu responds to the boy.

"Yeah, sorry. Ah... Amir thinks you're Ryou." He draws Bakura into the little circle they've created on the edge of the street. The boy's eyes regard him differently now, cautiously, as though he's been tricked. "Ishizu. You remember Bakura." Marik makes the unnecessary introductions, petting over Amir's head. "This little terror is her son. Amir, this is Unc-" He stops himself, flicking a glance at Bakura. "This is Mister Bakura. He speaks English like Uncle Ryou. Can you say hello to him?"

The toddler hides his face in Ishizu's hair, shy now that he's been told Bakura isn't Ryou. It's a strange feeling for him. He's used to people thinking he's Ryou because he impersonated him. He's never been directly mistaken for Ryou and that makes twice now. He self-consciously smooths a hand down his silver braid as Ishizu's gentle voice speaks up. "Even children know to avoid evil ones, unlike my brother."

"Ishizu," Marik reprimands.

"No. No, it's alright," Bakura answers. "When you knew me, I was evil. Maybe I still am." He smirks at her, though it softens when Amir peeks at him. "I haven't decided yet."

Marik rubs a hand over his face. "Not helping." Amir reaches for his uncle and he carefully takes him from his mother. The little boy pokes at one of Marik's earrings and then wraps his arms around his neck. He murmurs something softly to the boy who nods. Bakura can't get over how natural Marik seems with the child or ignore the way the muscles in his arms stand out as he holds Amir to his chest. "Amir's hungry. Let's get lunch at the cafe." Ishizu nods and takes Amir back, clearly wanting to keep him away from Bakura.

He glares at the back of her head, falling in next to Marik as they walk. "She doesn't like me."

"Last time she saw you, you were hell-bent on killing the pharaoh and didn't give a damn who you hurt to do it." He swallows and looks ahead. "Even me."

"I wouldn't-"

Marik waves his hand. "Yes, you would have. If it meant destroying the pharaoh and having your revenge? We were just pawns as long as we were something you could use."

Bakura stops, hands clenched at his sides. "Damnit, Marik! I-" He chokes, protests feeling like dirt in his mouth as those violet eyes look at him. Yes, yes he would have hurt Marik. And Ryou. He did hurt Ryou, repeatedly, physically and emotionally. And when he was done with them, he tossed both of them away like trash. Vengeance was his only concern until it was too late. Until there was no goodbye to be said to ones he never wanted to part with. His eyes burn, growling and pressing his fingers to his lids. "Fu-"

"Language," Ishizu admonishes. Bakura lifts his eyes to her, ready to tell her off, but the sight of the little face intently watching him from her arms stops him. "We're almost there. Marik, we'll meet you inside." She turns to continue on, Amir still watching them over her shoulder.

Before Bakura can speak, Marik does. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought up the past." He steps in front of the other man, arms over his chest. "That wasn't fair of me. It's something Ishizu says to me every time I mention you or wanting to bring you back. She thinks you'll use me and ditch me again."

He frowns, brows creasing. "And what do you think?"

Marik sighs heavily through his nose. "I think that even if you do? I couldn't leave you in the Shadows. You didn't deserve that. I would rather live in that gods forsaken hole and know you were living your own life than to think of you being tortured and alone in the Shadow Realm."

"You really do love me, don't you?" The words are tight in his throat though he's not about to start crying again.

The blonde gives him a sardonic look. "I gave up running an international thieves guild in complete luxury to living in a tomb I loathe and selling trinkets from the dead for you. Yeah, I do."

The former spirit can't reply to that, bumping his shoulder lightly as he steps by him. "Amir isn't the only one hungry." It’s a diversion but not a lie because he can’t yet return the words. Marik walks beside him, letting their hands brush together. "What does ' _khal mary_ ' mean anyways?"

A faint blush spreads over his cheeks. "Uncle Marik. He can't quite say my name yet, so..."

"So it's Mary?" A grin slowly forms on his face, his shoulders shaking next, until the laughter bubbles up, ringing out. "Uncle Mary!"

A smile teases Marik's mouth, stopping to open a door for Bakura. "Asshole," he whispers and pinches his ass, shooing him into the cafe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> khal = uncle  
> ibnu al-ukht = nephew (sister's son)
> 
> Chapter title from "Scream" by Avenged Sevenfold. Thank you, SerenityXStar, for the suggestion!


	11. Chapter 11

Ishizu never does warm to Bakura over the course of lunch though he tries to behave himself. He didn't even snarl when Amir crawled into his lap to play with his braid, letting the child's fingers follow the weave up and down. The meal had been long, Marik clearly in no rush, especially not after Amir moved from Bakura to Marik and curled in his lap and fell asleep. Though the Ishtar siblings would fall into Arabic, thus leaving Bakura out of the conversation, he found he was okay with that, sipping his mint tea and watching life in the desert town swirl around them. Bakura was in such a good mood for once that he doesn't try to hide a little smile as they leave and a sleepy Amir tells him "Bye, Mister Bakura!", not even when it sounds more like "bai, Mist Kura!"

Marik nudges his shoulder, grinning, duffel bag heavier now with a few supplies from Ishizu. "Mister Kura."

"Shut up, Uncle Mary." They both laugh, Marik loudly and Bakura a quiet chuckle. He finds it difficult not to lean into Marik or touch his hand as they walk, Marik leading him through the streets. The late afternoon sun creates long shadows through the town, vendors in the _souk_ starting to clean out their stalls. Marik rests his palm on the small of Bakura's back and guides him into another shop. His eyes adjust slower than the tomb keeper's and he finds himself surrounded by shelves and displays of different fabrics and clothes.

The blonde exchanges greetings with the shopkeeper, gesturing at Bakura and himself. He turns to Bakura with a mischievous grin. "Ryou brought a few clothes for you, but I don't have anything for Ishtar. Might as well have some fun with it if I have to dress all four of us."

"...fun?" Bakura barely has time to ask before he's handed a pile of things to try on and shoved in the back of the store. Marik selects some pieces for himself and Ishtar, not needing to try anything on since they're about the same build now. Bakura grumbles from the back. "Marik, I'm not wearing this!"

"You can't wear jeans, Bakura. Ryou only brought you one pair of khakis, so get out here and show me how that looks."

A silver head sticks out from the back. "I feel ridiculous." Marik only beckons him out, tapping his foot. Bakura self-consciously pulls his braid over his shoulder, stepping out in a long, tan galabia. His pale feet and hands poke around the hems, the flash of his white throat offset by the v-neckline of the sand-colored fabric. It makes his skin look even paler, his hair more silver, the red in his brown irises more obvious and Marik can't speak, violet eyes going over him repeatedly. The salesman nods approvingly and Bakura clears his throat. "Marik?"

His name snaps him out of the trance, color spreading at the top edges of his cheeks. "That'll do. We'll get the gray one too. Two of each, please." He hands the vendor the pieces he's selected. "And these."

"Marik!" Bakura hisses. "I can't wear just this! I need pants."

"No you don't."

"Yes. I do."

"Don't be such a Westerner! That's not who you are. It's fine without pants."

Mahogany eyes narrow, fists tight at his sides. "I don't know who I am anymore, but I know I want pants."

The statement gives Marik pause. That's more baggage than they can unpack in the middle of a store so he relents. "Okay. Okay. Pick out some pants so I can pay while you change." He worries with an earring. "I guess I'll get a pair too." Bakura grabs a pair and hands it to the shopkeeper without looking at Marik, returning to the back to change. Marik pays for everything quietly, thankful that they got a good price on the gold, worrying over Bakura's words. The tan galabia drops into the duffel with the rest of the new clothes, Bakura's arms crossed over his chest.

"Are we done?" Marik nods and thanks the vendor, elbowing Bakura who mutters " _shukran_ " before walking out. He pauses to tip his face to the sun, enjoying the heat, the way it burns. Marik follows him, standing shoulder to shoulder with him. When Marik opens his mouth to speak, Bakura cuts him off. "Don't. I'm not ready. Especially not here." The other man shuts his mouth and only looks at him in understanding. He links their pinkies together as they continue down the street, the faintest connection that they both drop before either wants to do so.

"For the record? You looked really good in that," Marik offers.

Bakura snorts. "Of course I did. I look good in everything." Both of them grin, heading on to finish their supply run.

 

* * *

Ishtar's amethyst eyes flick to the table under Ryou. The offer on the table, literally, appeals but the cost is far too high. His tongue smooths over his teeth, stepping closer, knife at his side. He doesn't miss how Ryou's muscles tense, though he can't tell if it's from desire or fear. "I can have you first and then I'll tell you where the Rod is." Ryou sets his mouth in a line, brow arched as he waits. The expectation that he continues to play the submissive sets Ishtar off. " _Ayreh feek, ya khara_!" He slams his fists into the wood at Ryou's knees, leaning over the table. "I am done playing your little game!"

Ryou only jumps a little when Ishtar hits the table, eyes narrowing. The knife is still in his hand, next to Ryou's frying pan, but while Ishtar is clearly dangerous, Ryou doesn't truly feel threatened. He does feel turned on though, his reaction to the contest of wills with his would-be hunter surprising him. His right hand snaps out, snatching a fistful of dark gold hair and tugging hard, bringing them nose-to-nose. "Bad lion." Ishtar growls at the phrase, palms flattening to push himself away, out of Ryou's grip, when Ryou tilts his head and slams their mouths together, teeth nipping at Ishtar's lower lip.

Pain flashes through his scalp and mouth as Ishtar wrenches his head away. His bottom lip is red and he prods his tongue at it to see if he's bleeding. His breath comes in short pants, his blood heating and rushing through his body. Ryou doesn't move under his scrutiny, except for the beat of his racing pulse in his neck and the rise and fall of his chest as he too pants. The lust quickly wipes away the rage and Ishtar leans over him again, intent on another rough kiss.

The Englishman throws his hand up over Ishtar's mouth, blocking him. "Say it." His voice is harsh, commanding. "Call me 'sir'." Ishtar simply smirks, licking and sucking Ryou's fingers until he feels the tendons in his hand relax. He releases his knife completely and bats the hand away, encircling the other man in his arms, burying his face against his neck and biting down hard. Ryou cries out, pale fingers clutching and yanking at Ishtar's spikes. He tries to break away, flushing as a rush of desire hits him, cock going solid and filling the opening left by his lowered zipper. " _Asadi_!"

Ishtar lifts his head, expecting to see fear or revulsion on Ryou's face. Instead he finds pink and red skin, and a patch of purple at his throat, eyes heavy lidded and unfocused. His fingers still cling to his hair and Ishtar doesn't try to pry them off. He's never had someone look at him with want and he's completely thrown off. "...sir?"

Ryou breaks into a lazy grin. "Good lion." He closes the distance between their faces, slower this time, licking at the spot he had bitten, sucking on his lip gently. This kiss is sweeter, more tender than the first, and they both shift, lips parting as they deepen the kiss. Ishtar grabs Ryou's hips, pulling him closer to the edge of the table, warm hands slipping under the waistband of his pants to cup his ass. He squeezes and molds the smooth flesh, groaning in approval as Ryou's erection presses into his bare abs. Ryou pulls away first, leaning back to look at Ishtar. "Give me the Rod."

He moans and ignores him, going for another kiss which Ryou dodges. Ishtar doesn't care, moving Ryou's hair away from his shoulder to suck on the pale skin there. Ryou lets his head fall back as Ishtar works on leaving another mark on his skin. Satisfied with that one, he lifts his head, mouth brushing over his arm. "No." Ryou tenses. "...no, sir," Ishtar amends.

"Ishtar..." Ryou allows his voice to waver as he pushes on his shoulder to give them distance to speak. He settles at the table's edge on his knees, worrying at his lip. It’s the very last thing he can try. "Ishtar, I've never..."

"Never what, _fa'r_?"

Ryou's face heats more than he thought possible, the skin more scarlet than pink. "I'm a virgin." He lifts his chin. "That's what I'm offering. Give me the Rod and you'd be the first to have me." It's a life-altering bargain and Ryou realizes it, just as he realizes how it would hurt if Ishtar decides he values an Item more than Ryou's virginity. He waits, still and nervous, for Ishtar's answer.

His throat goes dry at Ryou’s proposal. A virgin. Of course, he’s a virgin. That damned _djinni_ probably never gave him a chance to experience such intimacy. And now he wants to give this moment to Ishtar, one who came from darkness and hate and rage and pain, in exchange for a trinket that has already caused them all so much anguish. Ishtar chokes, voice like gravel as he speaks. “What makes you think I won’t just take it? With the Rod, I could make you want to give it to me.” Even as he says it, his stomach rolls, the thought disgusting him.

“I want to give it to you now. I only ask for one thing in return. And that’s the Rod.” Ishtar pulls away from him, pacing and grumbling to himself. Goosebumps break out along Ryou’s skin from the sudden loss of his body heat. He sits back on his heels. If he learned nothing else from his time when Bakura used his body, it was how to wait.

Ishtar spins around, the _shendyt_ flaring out from and settling back around his thighs. “Why me? You don’t know me. Are you tricking me?”

Ryou smiles softly at that. “If I was tricking you, would I admit it?” He shrugs, his hair falling to cover his shoulder. “As for why you? I want you. You make me feel something I haven’t felt since before I was given the Ring. I feel like myself around you.  You’re tall and proud and strong and gorgeous and crazy and a little scary and I like that. I like everything. And…” His cheeks heat and he ducks his head down. “You wouldn’t treat me like a porcelain doll. I’m not afraid of being broken. Not anymore.”

“This isn’t a fairytale, _fa’r_ ,” Ishtar says, gesturing to the books around them. “I will break you. Even if I give you the Rod, it will happen.”

Ryou looks up from under his lashes. “Then you’ll have to put me back together again.”

Ishtar doesn’t know what to say to that because there’s a part of him, tucked way down deep that he’s always thought was a remnant of Marik, that knows Ryou’s right. If Ryou was broken, Ishtar would besiege the gates of the Duat to fix him. He grimaces, torn. To give up the Rod is to give up the only power he has. Yet, he’d rather hand it to Ryou now than risk Marik or worse, Bakura finding it. And he’d have a part of Ryou that no one could ever have again. They’d have connection, them, unencumbered by their other halves. The sight of Ryou patiently waiting half-naked, each moment revealing a bit more of the hurt as he thinks Ishtar is rejecting him. The blonde screams in frustration, stalking over to the table on which Ryou is perched. The Brit tenses, ready to run again, making a soft noise of surprise when Ishtar reaches under the table, their eye contact never breaking.

With a loud clang, something hits the table, Ishtar leaning over to Ryou expectantly. He looks down at Ishtar’s hand, face lighting up. He throws his arms around Ishtar’s neck, murmuring “Good lion” before getting lost in his kisses.

On the table beside them, still clasped in Ishtar’s dark hand, exposed gold glinting in the distant flames, sits the Millennium Rod.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ya hara = you shit
> 
> Chapter title from "Like It or Not" by Madonna.
> 
> This is officially the longest fic I've ever written. I have no idea how it's gotten so long or why it's still going. Anyways, if you're sticking with it as it develops, thank you! If this is your first time reading, thank you too. Hope you're enjoying it!


	12. Chapter 12

Ryou threads his fingers deep into Ishtar's hair, lips parted to welcome the slide of Ishtar's tongue into his mouth. He tastes like honey from their breakfast and Ryou sighs through his nose at the sweetness. His lips form a small ring as he captures his tongue and sucks lightly, eliciting a deep groan from the other man. One hand pushes at his pants, wedging under the waistband once more to grab his ass. He waits for the other hand to join, for both hands to yank his pants down, to feel the cool air of the tomb hit his exposed skin, to feel the warmth of Ishtar's abs pressed again his dick.

And he waits.

And he waits.

He finally breaks the kiss, breathing heavy, eyes dropping down Ishtar's body. There, at his knees, is Ishtar's hand clenched so tightly around the Rod that his knuckles are almost as pale as Ryou. The Englishman brushes his fingertips over the back of Ishtar's hand. "Let it go, _asadi_." He turns his hand over, palm up, as he lifts his eyes, watching him with nothing more than hope. "Please."

Ishtar can't. He can't. The Rod is a part of him, as much as the Ring was Bakura. He's done so much violence with it. It's his identity and without it, he's lost, adrift in the darkness that still consumes him. Yet Ryou kneels before him, patient and kind, offering him a chance to be something more than evil. In Ryou's eyes, he feels as though he could be something... good. He only has to let go. Ishtar grits his teeth and growls at Ryou but his fingers slowly uncurl, relinquishing the Item. He fully expects Ryou to pick it up. That's why he's holding out his hand. He'll take it and run and-

Ishtar's thoughts skid to a stop as Ryou ignores the Rod and takes Ishtar's hand instead. "Are you choosing me over the Rod?" His touch is gentle on Ishtar's fingers, the Rod laying next to them, tempting Ishtar. He slowly tears his eyes away from the golden scepter, muscles tense with the need to grab it again. And yet...

"Yes, sir."  
  
Ryou beams at the soft words, tugging Ishtar back into his arms. His lips find his ear as he arches into his body. "Then I'm yours." He nips his earlobe, earning a grunt of pleasure, pants pushed roughly from his hips, both of them groaning at the skin-to-skin contact. Ishtar slips a hand between them to cup Ryou's length and stroke him, his other hand on his ass. Pink spreads over Ryou's skin as he holds on to his shoulders to brace himself. "Ah, Ishtar... Have you... um. Do you know what...?" He can't finish the question, dropping his head down onto his shoulder.

Ishtar moves his hand away and pulls the little bottle of lube Ryou had left behind from his _shendyt_. He shakes it in front of Ryou's face. "Will you pour some out for me?"

The pink along his face turns outright red as Ryou takes the bottle, popping the lid and squeezing some onto Ishtar's fingers, biting his lip. "You know what to do?" The blonde nods without offering any other information as Ryou sets the bottle down. He pulls up on Ryou's ass, separating the cheeks enough to slip his slick fingers between them. Ryou squeaks at the cold lube sliding over his skin, clinging to Ishtar as he starts massaging his hole, Ishtar grinning against his hair.

It's hard to spread his legs with his pants around his thighs but Ryou does the best he can. It's not that he's never been fingered before. He's even got a few toys back home that have been well used. But he's never been prepped until now, never had a lover touching him with the intent of fucking him. The hand on his ass tightens, holding him still, and Ryou has a second to be distracted by the grip before Ishtar partially shoves two well-lubed fingers into his ass.

His scream fades into a hoarse moan as Ishtar doesn't move, doesn't push any more than he is already. It burns but it's not painful in an unpleasant way. Ishtar uses his thumb to rub more lube around his hole, waiting for Ryou's body to relax enough to allow him to push his fingers completely in. He can be patient, but he's not used to being gentle, and his fingers jab up into him. Ryou buries his face against his neck, dick hard and warm between them.

"Move. Please, God, move..."

He complies, pumping his fingers to loosen him enough to add a third which his body takes much easier than the first two. Ryou rocks onto his hand, cock sliding between their bodies. When Ishtar curls his fingers, dragging his knuckles over Ryou's prostate, Ryou lets his head fall back, white hair teasing Ishtar's forearm. The head of Ryou's cock is slick with precum as he ruts against his abs faster, panting softly while he rides his fingers. Ishtar's own dick tents the cloth around his hips, twitching in response to Ryou's soft noises, to the way his body reacts. He noses at Ryou's exposed throat, breath warm on the flushed skin before he bites down, another bruise joining the others.

"Ready?" Ryou only moans softly in response so Ishtar moves to the other side of his neck, leaving a ladder of hickies on his skin. His fingers curl and press insistently on his gland. "Sir?"

"Yes! Ishtar, please. I'm ready."  
  
Ryou whimpers as Ishtar's fingers slip out though it's swallowed as Ishtar leans over him, kissing him roughly, biting at his lips. Ishtar unfolds the _shendyt_ from his hips and reaches behind Ryou to spread it over the tabletop. "Lay down." Ishtar's fingers dig into his hips as he guides him to stretch out over the cloth, tugging Ryou’s pants completely off as soon as his back hits the table. He gives himself a moment to admire Ryou laid out for him, milk-white hair framing his face and shoulders, cream skin marked with a pink blush, with blue and purple tinged bruises from Ishtar's mouth and hands, dick flushed and swollen against his pelvis. Ryou pulls his lip between his teeth as Ishtar takes the bottle of lube, pouring more into his palm and rubbing it into his cock. "It's going to hurt," Ishtar states, eyes dark and hungry.

Weaker men might have run from that look. They might have protested or asked for him to be gentle. Not Ryou. His pupils go even wider, almost blocking out the brown irises, looking up as Ishtar climbs up onto the table over him, opening his legs for Ishtar. "Good."  


 

* * *

Marik slings the duffle bag over his shoulder as they thread their way through the lengthening shadows to the motorcycle. It was completely full now with the clothes, food, and, most importantly to Bakura, coffee. He'd wanted to grab some fresh meat but Marik had pointed out it wouldn't transport back to the tomb well. Still, Bakura's mouth had watered at the scent of lamb and if one vendor was short one kabob at the end of the day, Marik didn't comment.  
  
Bakura leans against the wall of the building and licks the juices from the lamb off his fingers as Marik secures the bag to the back of the bike. His eyes wander over his back, lingering on the hint of bare skin above his belt and the curve of his ass. Marik straightens, shaking his hair back and handing Bakura his helmet. "Ready?" Marik smiles brightly, finding he doesn't dread going back to the tomb as much now that he's going with Bakura, knowing that Ryou is there waiting for them.

The former spirit doesn't reply for a moment, lost in that sweet smile. He pushes off the wall and takes the helmet, stepping closer to the other man. "Yeah, I'm ready." Bakura's voice is low, bringing his face to Marik's, breath causing a few strands of blonde hair to move around Marik's cheeks. Marik's tongue sneaks out over his lips, eyes going from Bakura's dark eyes to his lips and back. There's a moment to think that they shouldn't, not here, before Bakura's mouth connects with Marik's and everything but the taste and feel of their kiss is discarded. Bakura presses forward, palm wedging under Marik’s shirt to touch the skin he’d admired, bending Marik back over the motorcycle. Marik makes a soft noise, of protest or pleasure neither is sure, but he ropes his arms around Bakura’s neck, holding onto him as they kiss.

It’s dangerous or would be if they got caught and Bakura finds the thought exhilarating, thrusting his tongue into Marik’s mouth. The noise Marik makes then is definitely of protest, hands sliding to push at Bakura’s shoulders as he pulls away from the kiss. They’re both flushed, Bakura’s eyes wide in surprise that Marik would pull away, Marik wrinkling his nose. “You taste like meat.”

“I… Well, yes. I did just eat lamb. Are you, did you stop for that?” He’s caught between laughing at the absurdity of it and scowling that he was denied a kiss over a damned kabob.

The Egyptian gives him an apologetic smile. “We shouldn’t do this here anyways. Let’s go back and then you can kiss me.” He runs his thumb over his lower lip, eyelids lowering.

Bakura bends him back further, nosing along his throat, bumping against his golden earring. “I may not stop at just kissing you then.” His hand slips lower to the curve of his ass, hips rolling slowly forward, causing a shudder to go through Marik.

His fingers fist in Bakura’s shirt. “Ra, I hope not.” He forces his hands to flatten, gently pushing Bakura back. “I promise to take it easier on your ass this time.” That elicits a dark chuckle from Bakura who pulls his helmet on, his smirk disappearing under the visor. Marik grins and tugs on his own helmet, hopping on the bike and starting the engine while Bakura climbs on behind him. His arms encircle Marik’s waist and squeeze once to signal he’s ready and then they’re off, weaving their way out of the town and into the desert twilight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "Take Me to Church" by Hozier.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Earning that explicit rating. Skip to the line break if that's not your thing. There's also some consensual bloodshed so if that bothers you, skip this chapter entirely.

There’s nowhere for Ryou to hide, spread out on the table under Ishtar, the pink flush on his skin darkening as he reaches for him. He brushes cool fingers over Ishtar’s warm skin and feels a brief twinge of guilt that he isn’t Marik. Since they had become intimate, Ryou had thought his first time would be with Marik. He would have been sure of it if they’d been unsuccessful in bringing Bakura back. But they had succeeded. And Ryou found something not quite better but certainly different from Marik in Ishtar. Marik who was always so cautious with him. Marik who never left marks, whom Ryou never knew how to ask for them. Marik who was so perfect for him in some ways, yet not quite perfect in others. Ishtar, he knew, wasn’t perfect either but he would give Ryou what he craved. He’d spent so long ashamed of his needs, trying to blame Bakura’s influence, but here, under Ishtar, he can admit that his desires are his own and nothing to feel strange over. He emits a quiet sigh, fingers slipping to cup the back of Ishtar’s neck, his guilt fading into a gentle smile.

Ishtar is all bronze and muscles and power over him, the edges of his fringe hanging down as he lowers his head to Ryou’s. The torchlight from the hall makes Ishtar’s hair and skin glow even as it casts half his face in shadows. Ryou thinks it’s appropriate and he lifts his head, catching Ishtar’s lips in a kiss, nipping the lower one. They’re close enough that Ryou can feel the vibration in Ishtar’s chest as he growls, making him shiver. Precum leaks from the tip of his cock, smearing against Ryou’s skin, his dick throbbing with the need to fuck him. Holding himself up with one hand, Ishtar hooks his other arm under Ryou’s thigh, spreading him wider as the head of his cock presses against his hole. He warned him. He did. And with one swift, sure movement, Ishtar thrusts forward, burying himself in Ryou’s ass.

Ryou throws his head back, eyes slamming shut, and screams. It hurts. It burns. He feels so open and so raw and so full but the pain overtakes any pleasure for the moment. His nails dig into Ishtar’s arms, drawing blood. A soft grunt from above him silences his screaming and he blinks several times to clear his sight of the tears gathered on his lashes. He stares up at Ishtar, who doesn’t move, simply watching and waiting, carefully leaning down to lick the salty tears away from his cheeks. He doesn’t flinch from the scratches on his skin or try to push more until Ryou relaxes under him. His patience amazes Ryou, quietening him more than soft licks to his face. Ishtar pulls his head back enough to meet Ryou’s eyes, steady amethyst eyes looking down into teary brown ones, before closing the distance again, lips feather-soft against Ryou’s. The Brit whimpers into the tender kiss, fully relaxing, allowing Ishtar to move his hips shallowly, each slide spreading more lubrication between their bodies.

He tenses again, expecting it to hurt, but Ishtar murmurs in his ear and while Ryou doesn’t catch the words, it makes him unclench and realize that it doesn’t hurt nearly as bad now. His fingers slowly release Ishtar’s arms, moving to his shoulders. Each thrust lengthens, the rhythm steady as he pulls out farther and pushes back in completely. Ishtar shifts, holding Ryou’s thigh against his hip, rocking into him. His body takes each slide easier than the one before it until Ishtar can move faster, Ryou’s cock sliding between them. Ryou bites his lip, arching into the contact, pushing himself down on Ishtar’s cock to meet each thrust. Ishtar tries to hold back a moan but the sight of Ryou under him, riding him, draws the long low sound from his throat. Ryou doesn’t mean to grin and yet the edges of his lips twitch up, fingers slipping deep into Ishtar’s spikes.

“Harder.” Ishtar’s rhythm stutters at the command until he returns the grin, Ryou tugging at his hair. He slams his hips forward and Ryou bounces against the table. “I said harder, _asadi_.” He chuckles at his brave, tough, little mouse and obeys, pounding into him until the _shendyt_ bunches under Ryou, hair sticking to their faces, and they’re both panting and covered with a sheen of perspiration. The table creaks under them, but neither pays it, or any other sounds, any mind over their own noises of pleasure.

Ishtar braces both hands above Ryou’s shoulders, keeping himself up as well as preventing from Ryou from being pushed off the edge of the table. He’s still so tight around his length and Ishtar distracts himself by biting at the milk white skin. His sharp teeth break skin in a few places over his shoulders and neck but Ryou never complains, instead arching up into the more violent ones with a needy whine. Ryou squeezes around him and Ishtar groans, pressing his face into his neck. “ _Fa’r_ …” Ryou wraps his legs around his hips, limiting his motions, but angling his hips higher which makes Ishtar hit his prostate. He gasps, nails scoring Ishtar’s back, over the scars of his birthright, and Ishtar’s gone, shuddering as he cums, pushing as deep as he can into Ryou’s heat.

Ryou’s teeth drag against his lips, blood welling along the abused skin, wedging his right hand between them and jacking himself. “D-don’t move.” His back bows off the table as he strokes himself, keeping Ishtar’s dick pressed against his gland. “Oh… I-I-… Ahh… Nnn…” His fingers tighten on the next upstroke, dragging his thumbnail up his cock and driving it into the bundle of nerves under his head. Ishtar noses Ryou’s hair from his neck and bites down on the tender skin. “Ahh, AHH…”

 

* * *

The sun falls below the horizon as Marik and Bakura open the door to the tomb. Free from the worries that they would be seen, neither had truly let go of the other once they stopped the motorcycle, leaning against each other, hands brushing together as they untie the duffel bag, smiling at each other as they carry the bike, helmets, and bag down the stairs, fingers twining as Marik closes the door behind them. Bakura’s flashlight clicks on before the last glow of day fades, illuminating Marik as he lights a torch and hands it over. Pocketing his flashlight, Bakura takes the torch so Marik can shoulder the bag, neither saying a word as they take each other’s hand and head further into the underground. Both are fairly focused on the other, Marik nosing Bakura’s throat, Bakura’s arm slung low around Marik’s hips, and neither notices at first that Ryou doesn’t greet them.

By the time they reach the empty kitchen though, Bakura frowns, pausing and listening. The chairs are empty and the fire that would normally be stoked for dinner is dead. “Where’s Ryou?” He turns, the flame of the torch wavering in the abrupt motion, looking down the hall to the room where they kept Ishtar bound. No light falls into the hall from the room. No light moves down the darker end of the hall. No light waves against the walls, signaling that Ryou is coming. “Marik…”

“What? Is he down with Ishtar?” Marik pokes his head past Bakura, brows drawing down at the lack of movement down the hall. “It’s dark in his room. Maybe he’s taking a nap?” Bakura gives him a skeptical look. A muffled sound reaches them, soft enough to not be understood, low enough to clearly be Ishtar. The duffel bag drops to the floor as Marik lets it go, violet eyes wide. “Ishtar…” His fists clench at his sides, eyes darkening in anger. “If that bastard…”

Bakura waves at him to be quiet, ears pricked for any additional sound, any indication that either man is near. He creeps with a thief’s stealth down the hall, back to the wall and torch before him as he stands next to Ishtar’s prison, dropping and twisting his head to try to see into the pitch black room while Marik watches, frozen in the doorway to the kitchen. “Fuck, I can’t-”

Ryou’s cry echoes off the stone walls and Bakura is off, bolting down the tunnels to the sound, stolen switchblade pulled from his pocket and into his hand. He skids to a stop in front of the library, his flickering torchlight revealing Ishtar propped over Ryou on the tabletop and Ryou… Ryou’s head is back, eyes closed, face slack, blood and bruises marring his fair skin. Bakura can’t focus on anything other than red and purple and blue against white, fists clenching around the torch and blade. “GET OFF HIM!” Bakura screams, preparing to leap across the room until Marik thuds into his back, his hands grasping Bakura’s shoulders for balance as he makes a choked noise at the scene. He turns his head to see Marik. Even though he’s ready to kill Ishtar, Bakura’s heart aches that Marik has to see this, that he has to be exposed to more bloodshed. “Marik, Marik, don’t look.” The other man can only make another weak sound, covering his mouth as the color drains from his face, eyes locked onto the two other men. He appears like he might be sick, but he holds it together for the moment.

Ishtar lifts his head and blinks in surprise at the interruption, his attention having been absorbed in Ryou’s orgasm. He narrows his eyes and snarls at Bakura and shifts his upper body into a protective position over Ryou. His eyes are almost black in the light, blood clinging to his mouth from his love bites, bloody scratches over his arms and back from Ryou’s nails. To Marik and Bakura, it looks like a predator possessively guarding a kill. Ryou, meanwhile, coming down from his orgasm, drops his arm from around Ishtar’s neck and his hand away from his cock, laying there spent and lax, eyes opening slowly. He stares stupidly at Bakura and Marik. An automatic greeting dies on his lips as he sees the switchblade in Bakura’s hand, mind not functioning clearly enough to notice the pain in Marik’s eyes. His fingers touch something hard and warm and he grabs onto it, pointing it at the doorway, preparing to defend Ishtar if Bakura attacks.

The room falls silent until Marik inhales sharply, fingers digging into Bakura’s shoulder. “The Rod.” Ryou’s brow creases, having forgotten it was on the table, but firming his grip around the golden Item. Ishtar smirks, muscles visibly relaxing, finding Ryou protecting him, and with the Rod, amusing. Bakura swallows thickly. He knows Ryou is fully capable of wielding the Rod. He spent so many years wearing the Ring, of sharing his body with Bakura when he was trapped within the Ring, that Bakura has no doubt that Ryou would easily be able to use any of the Items. Behind him, Marik shakes his head. “Ryou! Are you, did he…” Marik doesn’t try to hide the hurt in his eyes though if it’s from having lost the Rod again or from Ryou’s injuries, he’s not even sure himself. “You have the Rod. Did you use it on him?” That had been the plan, after all. Gain the Rod and use its power to influence Ishtar into something manageable.

“What? What?” Ryou frowns, shaking his head as he looks down his arm to the scepter. “No, of course not. I couldn’t use it on someone.”

Bakura hisses. Ryou is doing himself a disservice because he very well could make use of the Rod. All the times Ryou wrenched control of their body from Bakura, thereby fighting the power of the Ring, he’s certainly strong enough to wield the Rod. Bakura is not going to point that out though. “Put it down. Use it on that animal or put it down, host.”

At being called host again, Ryou snaps, any afterglow burned away in a rush of anger. His eyes harden and both Marik and Ishtar think how much Ryou and Bakura look alike in their rage. Ryou pushes at Ishtar who pulls out and moves away to let Ryou up. Ryou points the Rod directly at Bakura as he sits up. “I am not your host! Stop calling me that!” He uses his free arm to push himself off the table, landing hard on his feet. “And how dare you call him that, you tosser! He’s no more an animal than you are. Neither of you are better than the other.” Ishtar sits back on his ass and crosses his legs, grinning with pride at Ryou, heedless of their nudity. Bakura and Marik, however, have a full view of Ryou and his state, from the bruises and broken skin covering his neck and shoulders to the jizz shining on his stomach to the blood and cum on his inner thighs.

Marik turns away, closing his eyes, but Bakura, caught as the target of Ryou’s wrath, can’t look away. He wants to reach for him but his hands are full of the torch and knife, a highly undignified whimper escaping before he can stop it, dropping the switchblade. “Ryou-”

“Just shut up!” Ryou’s arm holding the Rod trembles. “You don’t own this body! You never did. I wanted this. I wanted him.” Marik’s eyes, full of hurt, cut back to Ryou before shutting again. “This is my body and I-I…” The room spins in Ryou’s vision, reaching back to catch himself on the table. “I…” He glances down at himself. “Oh.” Before either Ishtar or Bakura can grab for him, Ryou’s eyes roll back, sinking to the floor as he passes out. Ishtar is able to get a hand in Ryou’s hair, keeping him from hitting his head at least, though Bakura bares his teeth and growls at the hair pulling, falling to his knees in front of Ryou, the torch discarded on the stone floor. Ishtar slips off the table to Ryou’s other side, both men lowering him carefully to the floor.

“I have him!” Ishtar insists as he shoves at Bakura. “Get your fucking hands off him.”

“You did this to him!” He snaps back, letting go of Ryou to lunge at Ishtar. “Look at him! He’s bleeding! Motherfucker, I’m going to kill you!” He tackles Ishtar to the floor, Ryou forgotten while they fight. Bakura manages to get his hands around Ishtar’s throat even as the other man rolls on top of him.

“You heard him. He wanted it!” Ishtar chokes the words out, landing a fist against Bakura’s jaw. His teeth clack together painfully, fingers tightening against his windpipe.

“Bullshit,” Bakura grits out. “You raped him! Didn’t you?!”

Ishtar growls at the accusation, knowing it’s untrue, fingers fisting in Bakura’s silver braid and yanking his head up. “Disappointed you didn’t get him first, _djinni_?” Before Bakura can reply, Ishtar wrenches his hair down, slamming the back of Bakura’s head against the stones. It stuns him enough to release his hold on his throat, tears coming to his eyes. Bakura looks enough like Ryou had when Ishtar had thrust into him that Ishtar forgets their fight for a moment, giving enough time for Bakura to recover and roll them once more, trying to get leverage against the more muscled man.

Neither notice Marik who steps over to Ryou. His heart hurts, feeling lethargic and heavy in his chest. He puts the Rod back into Ryou’s palm and closes his fingers over it, folding his arm over his chest. His Rod. His Ryou. Neither of which really belong to him any longer. He thought he would be Ryou’s first. He thought he would get to keep the Rod. Even after bringing Bakura back, he still thought there was hope. Marik sniffs, rolling his shoulders as he bends down to scoop Ryou into his arms. Hope was a foolish thing. His own life was proof enough of that.

Marik stops at the edge of the tunnel, looking back over his shoulder at their darker halves pummeling each other. He doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t need to, the sound cutting through their impotent threats to each other. “He wouldn’t want you to fight.” Two heads turn to him, shocked into stillness, watching as he turns away, carrying Ryou’s unconscious form down the hall.

Ishtar and Bakura tense and prepare to defend against the other’s next attack that never comes, both too worried about Ryou. They separate slowly, wary of each other as they pull away. Ishtar grabs his _shendyt_ off the table, frowning at the blood on it. “I didn’t know,” Ishtar says softly. He wraps it around his waist, hiding the stain as best he can. Bakura picks up the flameless torch and smooths a hand over his hair. He doesn’t comment, only moving to follow Marik down the hall. They both stop sheepishly at the door of the bedroom to watch as Marik gently lays Ryou down on the bed and covers him with the sheet.

He doesn’t acknowledge either one of them, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Bakura, boil some water for tea. Ishtar, bring me a wet cloth so I can clean up this mess.” His fingers trail through Ryou’s white hair, moving it off his face. He waits until he hears them leave before he speaks again, voice a rushed whisper.

“I’m sorry, Ryou. I’m sorry for bringing Bakura back. I’m sorry for bringing Ishtar here. I never meant for something like this to happen. I never meant to…” The words catch in his throat. “I don’t regret having Bakura back. It was all I ever wanted. Or it was until you. I never would have wanted you to get hurt.” His bottom lip trembles, throat going tight. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Ryou’s voice is weak and he doesn’t open his eyes at first, turning towards Marik’s voice. “And don’t cry.” His lashes flutter once as he looks up at him. “You’ve shed so many tears. I don’t want you to cry anymore.” He gives him a soft half smile, threading their fingers together. “Especially not over me.”

Marik wipes at his face, talking fast before Ishtar or Bakura return. “What happened? Did you mean that? When you said you wanted him?” His fingers squeeze around Ryou’s, not sure which answer would be better.

Ryou bites his lip, cringing at the self-inflicted pain to the sensitive skin. He does nod, eyes never leaving Marik’s. “I offered myself for the Rod, but yeah. I wanted it. I didn’t want him to be gentle and he wasn’t.” He huffs out a little laugh. “I didn’t expect to pass out though.”

“I’m sorry.” Ishtar hovers in the door, damp cloth in his hands, as they look at him. “I warned you that I would break you, but I never actually wanted to.” He twists the cloth nervously. The unexpected attitude takes Marik aback. He stares at his former alter ego, feeling confused. “I’m sorry, sir.” Well now, Marik is totally lost, gaping at the submissive Ishtar. Ryou lets the Rod go and holds out his hand for Ishtar.

“Come here. You needn’t call me that now.” He smiles at them both, waiting as Ishtar approaches the bed. He offers the cloth to Marik before taking Ryou’s offered hand. Marik simply looks between them perplexed. Ryou giggles. “A bit of roleplay. I thought it would help. Did it?” Ishtar nods, settling on the bed next to Marik, half leaning over Ryou to hold his hand.

“What in the everloving fuck is going on?” Bakura scowls from the door, teacup steaming in his hands. Two blonde heads and two sets of purple eyes regard him while Ryou pushes himself up.

“Oh, tea!” The room spins again and he lowers himself back against the pillows. “Darn it.”

All three of the others jump into action. Marik wipes his face and neck off with the cloth, making certain to wipe away the dried blood. Ishtar surreptitiously peeks under the sheet to ensure Ryou is not still bleeding, taking the cloth from Marik to clean between his thighs. Bakura sets the tea down on the makeshift bed stand and crawls onto the bed, mindful not to jostle it too much, pulling Ryou against his chest. “Sorry. You needn’t fuss over me. I’m sure it will pass.”

Three smirks meet his words. “You need to rest,” Marik says. “Let us take care of you.” There’s a glint in his eyes as he echoes Ryou’s words from the night before. Ryou blushes, holding tight to his hand.

Bakura chuckles, tapping the Rod where it rests on Ryou’s chest, much as the Ring once did. “You’d have to use the Rod to get us not to fuss over you.” Ryou smiles up at him, sinking more against Bakura.

“We can’t fight if we’re too busy worrying over you,” Ishtar offers. Ryou bends his knee up, letting Ishtar lay his cheek against it.

“I could use some sleep,” Ryou admits. “Will you stay with me? All of you?” They all look at each other dubiously and start to object until a yawn from Ryou interrupts them. “I want you to stay. I won’t sleep as well if any of you leave.”

Ishtar snerks. “Yes, sir,” he teases. He unfolds the ruined _shendyt_ from his hips, slipping to the foot of the bed. He lifts Ryou’s legs and stretches under them, rubbing his feet lightly as he makes himself comfortable, not interested in upsetting Ryou and fighting Marik and Bakura for a better spot.

Bakura shrugs, laying down next to Ryou, pressed along his side, head propped up on his hand, knees bent to avoid Ishtar’s head. “I haven’t really slept but I’ll stay.” Ryou clicks his tongue at him. “Unless you do that. Then I’m gone.”

Marik hesitates but finally concedes to the request, removing his shirt and khakis, shifting to recline opposite Bakura. He tries putting his feet on Ishtar, grunting when they’re pushed off. “How can we say no?” He kisses Ryou’s cheek, reaching across his chest to rest his fingertips on Bakura’s arm. Ishtar shifts to use Bakura’s feet as a pillow which he allows, burying his face into Ryou’s hair.

Surrounded by them and feeling safer than he ever has in his life, Ryou drifts off quickly to sleep, Ishtar, then Marik, and finally Bakura following after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "Bruises & Bitemarks" by Good with Grenades.


	14. Chapter 14

Ryou awakes in the bed alone, stretching out under the sheet. His skin feels sticky and his muscles are sore. He would have paid for a proper bath with hot water to soak in and maybe even bubbles. He sighs and runs his fingers through his white hair. There was nothing to be done about it now. The low sounds of the other men talking float from the direction of the kitchen and he smiles. They had survived the night, the four of them, all in the small bed. Ryou slips from the bed, wincing at the ache in his thighs and lower back as he gets to his feet. The cloth on the bed stand is dry sadly and he has to pass the kitchen to get to where they store the camp shower. He frowns at the thought of putting on his jeans, Bakura seeming to still have his other pair of khakis. His eyes light on the Rare Hunters robe Marik had given him for the ceremony. Perfect. He pulls it over his head, leaving the hood back and heading down the hall to find the others.

In the kitchen, Bakura sits at the table, indeed wearing Ryou’s khakis though he’s left the tee off, smirking into a cup of tea. Marik and Ishtar hover over the cooking fire, each with a spoon in their hands. Ishtar wears the loose tan pants Marik had bought low on his hips, the color a shade lighter than his skin, torchlight dancing over the exposed scars on his back. Marik wears the matching galabia, his bare feet and ankles sticking out from under the material. “No, you don’t know anything! You have to let them boil undisturbed.” Marik tries to bump Ishtar out of the way with his hips.

“You have to stir them so they don’t stick to this piece of shit you call a pot!” Ishtar objects, leaning into Marik to not cede the position.

The other blonde huffs, leaning back. “What would you know about cooking? Get out of my way and let me work.” Bakura snickers into his tea mug at their bickering, eyes closed as he sips.

“I can feed myself! Unlike some people-” he looks pointedly at Bakura, “I ate during Battle City.”

Bakura chokes on his tea, swiveling around to face them. “I ate! That steak was fucking delicious, wanker.” Both Marik and Ishtar make a disgusted face.

Ryou can’t contain his laughter anymore from where he stands in the entrance. They’re fighting but it’s no more serious than snarking between long-term roommates or an old married couple. In an odd way, it makes him happy. They all freeze when they notice him, Bakura, as usual with the quickest reflexes, standing and pulling out a chair for Ryou. He smiles as he approaches, fingers trailing over equally pale skin as he curls up in the seat. He notices the color rise on Bakura’s cheeks but doesn’t mention it.

“Sorry if we woke you up,” Marik apologizes. “I was trying to fix you breakfast.” He gestures at the pot with his spoon.

Ishtar growls. “We were fixing it,” he corrects, crossing his arms over his chest. Marik simply rolls his eyes.

Bakura takes the opportunity to hide his face and prepare Ryou a cup of tea. “Here. You didn’t get to drink any last night. Don’t let this one get cold.”

The Brit takes the warm cup in his hands, using the sleeves of the robe to protect his skin. “Thanks. Yeah, I guess I didn’t eat after breakfast in all the, um, well, excitement yesterday.” Ishtar hangs his head. “You’d think I would be used to it between Battle City and the other time.” Marik and Ishtar cast Bakura a harsh look.

“I ate! Sometimes.” He scowls and sits back at the table, staring at his tea. “Revenge is a cruel mistress.”

Ishtar’s and Marik’s eyes meet. They know that all too well themselves. They turn back to the pot, Ishtar stirring slowly to barely agitate the water. “Cold and cruel,” Ryou replies, drinking his tea.  He watches them murmuring softly to each other in Arabic, two halves of what was a broken whole. “You look naked without your jewelry, Ishtar.”

He lifts his head at Ryou’s words, self-consciously rubbing the back of his neck. “It feels weird.” He turns to Marik. “You only have the earrings.”

Marik hides his hand under the edge of his sleeve, unsure how Ishtar would react to seeing their father’s ring. “I sold the rest.”

“Except the ring,” Bakura offers helpfully. Marik groans and flips him off while Ryou suddenly finds his tea fascinating.

“What ring?” Ishtar frowns and grabs at Marik’s hand. “We don’t have a ring.” He pushes the sleeve off his hand, breath catching in his throat. The obsidian stone seems to absorb the light where it rests on Marik’s right hand. “ _Ab_ … That’s his ring.” Of all the conflicted emotions crossing his face, disgust comes across the strongest, sneering as he drops Marik’s hand. “How did you even get that? I thought it was buried with the old man. Why would you wear it?”

Ryou speaks up first, his tone gentle. “Bakura and I raided your father’s crypt. Just his. They were off selling the gold yesterday when we… Ah.” He blushes and looks to Bakura for help who shakes his head. “I thought Marik might want to keep it rather than sell it. It’s the chief tomb keeper’s ring, isn’t it?”

“It should have come to me after _ab_ ’s death. It would have if…” He doesn’t say it. He wouldn’t know how to put it into words. Marik didn’t kill his father; Ishtar did. But they were the same person and Ishtar wouldn’t exist if Marik hadn’t disassociated in all those moments of pain and rage. They both carried that sin. “I’m the last tomb keeper and regardless of the circumstances around our father’s death, it’s rightfully mine.” Marik straightens his shoulders and lifts his chin. “We endured the initiation for this. I’ll be damned if I’m going to let him ruin our birthright.”

They stare at each other in silence, Ishtar finally breaking the moment to grab a bowl and spoon out a serving of the beans they worked so hard on. “Your birthright, _nafsi_. My birthright is hate and anger and agony and fire, knives, and blood.” He takes the bowl and sets it down in front of Ryou who smiles gratefully but doesn’t say anything, not wanting to interrupt their moment. “He’s our father by blood, but we both know I was never meant to be more than your vengeance.”

Ryou’s eyes flick to meet Bakura’s across the table. The four men have more in common than any of them would readily admit. Marik sighs and serves another bowl. “I was a child. I didn’t know what I was doing or what kind of power I was wielding in the Rod. I wouldn’t take it back though. Not any of it. Not even father, not after what he did to all of us.” He carries his bowl to the table, pulling over another chair to sit in. He lazily stirs the beans, the steam rising in the cooler underground air. “My heart will never be lighter than a feather and I’ve made my peace with that.”

“Because of me.” Ishtar serves himself a bowl of the beans and nudges an overturned box closer to the table, joining the others. Marik only shrugs in response.

Bakura growls and pushes away from the table, realizing he has to get his own breakfast. “Asses.” He stalks over to the pot, back muscles tight as he leans over it. He hunches in on himself. “At least you don’t have Zorc as a creator.” Ryou protests, saying his name softly but he’s ignored as Bakura continues. “I’m not him. The Thief King. His memories aren’t mine. His family isn’t mine. Whatever parts of him were used to make me got fucked up.” He snorts. “I’m fucked up.” He drops the bowl onto the table and falls back into his chair.

“You’re not fucked up,” Ryou says. “No more so than the rest of us.” Bakura scoffs. “I miss my dad.” Ryou props his chin on his knees. “He was never really there, not after Mom died. But I miss him. I miss how happy I would be to see him come home. Then he sent me off to Japan for school and well, I didn’t get to see him for awhile.” Bakura pokes at his breakfast, guilt rising in his chest at being the reason why Ryou hadn’t seen his father. “He gave me the Ring though. Not sure anyone would think I should thank him for that now, but I do. I’m grateful he gave me the Ring.” Bakura lifts his eyes to see Ryou smiling at him, looking over at Ishtar and Marik to find them wearing twin small smiles as well. “We didn’t have the best father figures, but they made us. We wouldn’t be sitting here if they hadn’t.”

“Eat, _fa’r_.” Ishtar taps Ryou’s bowl with his spoon.

Marik watches Ishtar, lost in memories. “I never knew our _umm_. Ishizu favors her, I’m told, but we didn’t have anything like cameras or art or anything so I don’t even have a picture of her. Sometimes, when I was little, I would cry and I wouldn’t really know why, but I’d feel like someone was there with me as I cried myself to sleep. I wanted to believe it was Mother, but after the initiation, it stopped.”

Ryou reaches for Marik’s hand, white fingers threading with tan. “I used to write letters to Amane after she died. I knew she wouldn’t answer me but it was a way I could still talk to her.” He squeezes his hand. “You’re lucky to still have Ishizu.”

“You could go see your father,” Bakura interjects. The guilt was weighing heavily on his stomach, unable to take more than a few bites of the breakfast. “You don’t have to stay here now. Shit, none of us have to stay here. We can all leave. Start a new life.” Ishtar arches a brow as he eats, definitely interested in getting out of the tomb. Ryou shifts in his chair, clearly uncomfortable. Ishtar taps his bowl again, reminding him to eat.

“Ah, we can’t actually.” Marik’s fingers scrape through his blonde hair. “Ryou can, yeah. I can, if my documents are still good. But I don’t have any money to go anywhere. We didn’t… You don’t…” He grimaces. “Neither of you have paperwork to leave the country.”

“So?” Bakura pushes his bowl away. “Get your ghouls to forge us some passports and we’ll steal the money and-”

“I’m not their leader anymore, Bakura. I had to walk away from that after I got the Rod back. From all of it.”

“Damn it! Then why didn’t you get the documents before you left?!”

Marik slaps his palm against the table. “I didn’t plan beyond getting you back! I didn’t even know if it would work so I didn’t think about the future!” He points at Ishtar. “Even if I had, I wouldn’t have documentation for him! We’re stuck here!”

Ishtar doesn’t look up from his now empty bowl. “We’re not stuck, Marik. You have IDs for two of us. Either Ryou or Bakura can leave and either you or I can leave. Bakura’s right; we can get the money if we really want to. There are other graves to rob.” Marik hisses at the suggestion but doesn’t interrupt when Ishtar holds up his hand. “Two of us can leave. Two of us would have to stay until something is figured out.” He grins at them. “We’ve faced tougher problems than fucking passports before. We use the Shadow Realm as a toy. We carry Millennium Items like we were born to it.” The edge of his mouth ticks higher. “Some of us were.”

“It’s not a problem we have to solve right now.” Ryou tucks a strand of hair behind his ear. “I’m not in a rush to go home. I’d like to maybe enjoy having Ishtar and Bakura back for a little while first.”

“Haven’t you already ‘enjoyed’ Ishtar?” Bakura teases, appreciating the way Ryou’s exposed ear turns pink. “Yeah, we don’t have to leave yet. Got nowhere to be.”

The others look to Marik, awaiting his decision. He may have stepped down as the leader of the Rare Hunters but the three men around the table seem to regard them as their de facto head. He nods once, sharp and sure. “Then we’ll stay here and lay low for a bit.” He places his hand palm down on the center of the table. Bakura covers it with his own, curling his thumb under Marik’s palm. Ryou’s hand lightly falls over Bakura’s, fingers caressing his wrist. Ishtar’s long fingers cross Ryou’s, thumb running over his knuckles.

“All for one?” Ryou asks with a bright grin.

The other men groan at the line but Ishtar dutifully answers. “And one for all.”

“United we stand,” Marik replies.

Bakura murmurs the final line, heart lodged in his throat. “Divided we fall.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> umm = mother
> 
> Chapter title from "I'm With You" by Avril Lavigne.


	15. Chapter 15

The week passed quietly. Ryou and Marik caught their counterparts up on events since their disappearances. Bakura sulked for half a day when he heard how Atem had been released. All Ryou's reminders that Bakura not only was back but in a body of his own didn't make any difference. It wasn't until Ishtar cornered Bakura and dragged him down a tunnel that his disposition returned to his normal sardonic attitude. Neither Marik nor Ryou asked what happened or commented on the bruises on Bakura's arms or the scratch on Ishtar's face.

Bakura finally gave Ryou the copper hair pin. He’d forgotten about it after finding Ishtar hunched over Ryou’s body, only finding it a few days later in the pocket of his khakis. Ryou had squeaked in happiness, quickly persuading Bakura to help brush his hair so he could pin it up. A few white strands escaped to frame his face and the others were enchanted though they showed it in different ways. Bakura would fuss with the pin, making sure it could be seen properly. Marik would twirl the errant pieces of hair around his fingers, lightly brushing over the back of Ryou’s neck. Ishtar, to no one’s surprise, left a dark possessive mark on Ryou’s throat.

They filled their days with a quiet camaraderie. Once or twice, Ryou might have snuck off with Marik or with Ishtar and once, Bakura pulled Marik away, soft kisses and softer words stolen in the hidden places of the tomb. Yet they all returned to bed together at the end of the day where their nights were no less full than their days.

In the night, Ryou dreams of family. Since his childhood, he has always dreamed of family. He dreamed of the picture-perfect family life he lost after his mother and sister died. Four place settings around the table for dinner: one for the father who always made it home for dinner and listened to his children's stories, one for the mother who cooked the meal and kissed away scraped knees and hurt feelings, one for the little sister who looked up to her big brother as her hero, and one for the son who could only console himself now with nighttime illusions. Ryou dreamed of holidays and movie nights and chores and trips and laughter but always family. The last few nights though, the characters in his dream have changed. Two golden heads and one silver head now join him and he finds he's more than okay with it. They're a family now. Ryou's family.

Marik dreams of power and he's deeply ashamed of it. He dreams that he is still the leader of the Rare Hunters, ghouls willingly following his commands, a worldwide operation of criminals keeping Marik in a very comfortable lifestyle and, more importantly, out of the tomb. He dreams of wielding the Rod. In the daytime, it never occurs to him to steal it from Ryou or even ask for it. Yet in his dreams, he uses the Rod much as he did leading up to Battle City, controlling insubordinate followers or those reluctant to accede to his plans. Once he even dreams of being pharaoh, sprawled on the throne, surrounded by his advisors, his protected inner circle: his siblings, his twin, Ryou, Bakura. He wakes feeling guilty, not only for the dreams but for missing his old life sometimes.

Ishtar still dreams in fables. He grins a toothy, feline grin, shaking out his mane in the warm sunlight. Blood of his kills colors his golden paws and muzzle and he revels in it, rolling around happily. If ever a moment of loneliness or restlessness crosses his lion mind, his precious white mouse appears, climbing over his body to nestle in his mane. He still stalks the white beast from his first dream, an animal that continues to dance away from him though he almost caught it once. He figures out that he hunts a unicorn from that near-catch, a silver-white unicorn protected by a golden eagle. Ishtar doesn't analyze his dreams. He doesn't need to. He knows he will catch the unicorn and the eagle both in time.

Bakura doesn't dream. Nightmares haunt him when he can no longer resist the lull and comfort of the three men sleeping with him. He runs in his nightmares. He runs through a darkness being swallowed by flame, both offering destruction and safety. He hears echoes of screaming and laughing and chanting as he flees, his terrified mind caught between the two forces. He can run to the fire and burn or disappear into the shadows and cease to exist. He wants to stop running, wants to curl up and scream and give up, but he keeps fighting, looking for a salvation that doesn't come but he feels is near.

The former spirit awakens sweating but chilled despite the three slumbering bodies in bed with him. His heart pounds in his chest and he draws in several deep breaths to calm himself. He can't stay there with them, not with his defenses down like this. He carefully untangles himself and slips off the bed, pulling on a pair of the loose pants he insisted Marik purchase and grabbing his ever-present flashlight. Bakura steals through the tomb and finds himself outside, the stars still bright overhead, the cool air raising goosebumps over his sweat-slick skin.

He sits on the cold stone, curling his arms around his knees as he tips his face up to the night sky. He had never revisited the comment he made to Marik and the tomb keeper thankfully had never pressed. Bakura didn't know who he was anymore. He remembers how he was created by merging the thief king's _sheut_ and a portion of his _ka_ with Zorc Necrophades' energy. He remembers being lost in the sand, Ryou's father finding the Ring, remembers the power unleashed when Ryou first slipped the Ring around his neck. But tales about the thief king are only stories to him and any allegiance to Zorc was disavowed the moment Marik and Ryou pulled him from the Shadow Realm.

When he possessed Ryou's body, Bakura never entertained any interests of his own, consumed instead by his vengeance. Well, there was one thing that had caught his attention. He tucks his face down against his knees, face heating in memory. Marik had certainly interested him. The power he held in the Rod, the confident swagger of a self-made international crime lord, even that damned motorcycle he insisted on riding all distracted Bakura from his ultimate goal. Finding the Egyptian's presence in Ryou's mind later had not been entirely unwelcomed though Bakura became protective of his host. They struck a deal, Marik's body for the Millennium Rod, but there was a part of him that wanted both. It all was for naught when he lost, banished to the Shadow Realm save for the small part of himself he had hidden in the Puzzle. Even on his initial return, he still thought of Marik, his lavender eyes vivid in his memories, wondering how he fared, wondering if he still wore the gold adornments against his bronze skin. A fascination with a tomb keeper and a predilection for revenge and violence wasn't a personality though. Was it?

He lifts his chin, eyes on the stars as he ponders who he is. He's lost in his musings when Ryou finds him, silently sitting behind him and wrapping a blanket around them both. The sudden contact doesn't startle Bakura. In a way, he still feels connected to Ryou and the embrace feels as natural as his own arms around his knees does. Ryou doesn't speak as he cradles Bakura's back against his chest, nosing his platinum hair off his shoulder to place gentle kisses along the exposed skin. His galabia rides higher on his thighs, the bare skin of his legs pressed against Bakura's pants. They remain there, neither speaking for some time until Bakura finally sighs.

"Who am I?"

Ryou's lips hover over his skin. "You're Bakura."

He rolls his eyes at the answer. "A name I stole from you. Who am I, Ryou? I've been trying to figure it out all night and I'm tired and I can't. Who am I?"

"You're Bakura," the other man repeats. "You're the former spirit who inhabited the Millennium Ring, made from a man who wanted to avenge the death of his village and, yes, a dark demon-god who wanted to cast the world into shadow. You are a force of nature, a power beyond what most people could ever understand. You're a thief, a villain, a scoundrel, but you're also a friend. You're prone to violence but you also utilize it as a tool for protection." He shrugs. "And for furthering your own plans. You're one of the smartest people I've ever known and you're always thinking several steps ahead." He runs his fingers through the ends of Bakura's hair. "You have an affinity for darkness but you crave the light. We need both. All of us. And you love your steak still mooing at you."

The unexpected comment about his eating habits makes Bakura chuckle, shoulders shaking lightly as Ryou noses his neck. "It should still taste like meat, not charcoal, when I eat it." A small smile still teases his lips as he leans his head back onto Ryou's shoulder. "It's strange not to know your own self. I had all these machinations and never any time for emotions, except..."

"Except for Marik."

"And you." Bakura cuts his eyes to Ryou's face. "But does that make me who I am? I know more about you than I do myself." Ryou arches a brow. "You like horror movies and thrillers. You like obscure death metal but not in a pretentious way. You will eat almost anything but sweets are your weakness. You're loyal and strong and fierce and calm and you're a better friend than any of them deserve."

The Brit's cheeks color at the compliments. "Well. Okay then, let's start there. What type of movies do you like? What kind of books do you want to read? What music would you listen to?"

"How would I know? I never did any of that shit when I was in your body." He scowls and turns his face away, the long creamy line of his neck bared unintentionally to Ryou.

Ryou's eyes lock onto the soft skin. "How about this?" He brushes his lips featherlight over his neck. "What's your favorite sexual position? Are you a top or a bottom?" He releases the blanket to smooth his palms over Bakura's chest.

Under his touch and his kisses, Bakura shudders. "What? What kind of questions are those?" He drops his head back more, unconsciously offering his throat for Ryou to taste.

"Important ones," he answers lowly before sucking lightly on a patch of skin under his jaw. "What do you fantasize about?"

Bakura bites down on his lip as Ryou's interrogation distracts him from his introspection. Ryou's fingertips graze one of his nipples and he gasps, squirming in his arms. "Marik. You." Ryou can feel Bakura's face heating against his nose. "Ishtar." Ryou grins against his neck and waits for him to keep talking. "I want Marik to bugger me. I- ah!" He arches when Ryou rolls his nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

"He hasn't yet?" Ryou's other hand slides over his stomach, petting the cool skin. "I thought you two had by now."

Silver hair tickles Ryou's cheek as Bakura shakes his head. "We-... Nnn, we've touched each other but nothing else." Ryou squeezes his nipple and kisses at his throat. "I haven't even... We haven't..." His thoughts are harder to hold on to under Ryou's attentions. "I want you."

The other man's lips find his ear. "What do you want, 'Kura?" His palm slides over his crotch to cup his dick through the linen. Bakura's eyes close, legs spreading slightly, blood rushing to the member in response to Ryou's petting. "How do you want me?"

He can't answer, lifting his hips, needing to increase the pressure of Ryou's hand along his cock. A low whine escapes him and he reaches up to grasp the back of Ryou's neck, turning his face back to his. His eyes open, mahogany gazing into chocolate before falling to Ryou's mouth, his tongue darting across his own lips to wet them. They've never kissed, not even in the shared space of their minds, not even when they were robbing the crypt and he’d been sure Ryou was going to kiss him. Now Bakura finds he wants to know how his former host tastes. He closes the distance between their lips, holding back nervously at the last moment.

Ryou takes pity on him and brings their mouths together just as he dips his hand under the waistband of his pants to wrap his fingers around his shaft. Bakura moans shamelessly into this kiss, rocking up into his hand and parting his lips for Ryou's tongue. Ryou's erection presses into his back and Bakura sucks on his tongue before pushing his tongue into Ryou's mouth. Ryou allows him to control the kiss for a moment as he strokes his length slowly, deliberately avoiding his head. Bakura's fingers squeeze on the back of his neck, groaning in the need for Ryou to do more. They pull away to breathe, their lips swollen and wet.

"Tell me what you want." Ryou's hands switch, thumb sliding over his slit, pinching his other nipple. Bakura writhes under his touch, panting through parted lips.

He can't find words but he also can't think beyond Ryou's hands and lips on him. His dick is hard in Ryou’s palm, aching for a release he hasn’t had since returning from the shadows. It takes several tries before Bakura can find his voice. "Suck... Suck me."

There’s a soft chuckle at the plea. “Of course.” He kisses the corner of Bakura’s mouth, placing small kisses over his jawline and neck and spreading the blanket out on the stones behind him. Bakura whines at the loss of his touch, Ryou making soothing noises against his throat and sucking at the joint of his neck and shoulder. “Lay back.” He shifts from behind Bakura, nudging his knees apart and settling between them, guiding him to recline on the blanket.

Bakura’s darkened eyes widen, resting back on his elbows, head tipping back as Ryou mouths down his throat and shoulders. He hisses as his lips find his nipple, tongue circling the tight tip and flicking it. Ryou’s fingers push Bakura’s pants lower on his hips, fingers smoothing over his length, while he sucks on one nipple and then the other. Bakura’s chest presses up into his mouth, gasping as his teeth drag over his skin. His cock leaks over his fingers, Ryou purring approval against his pale flesh as he mouths his way down Bakura’s chest and stomach. He uses the precum to slick over his cock, squeezing lightly on the upstroke, thumb rubbing the bundle of nerves under his head.

His hips roll up into the touch. “Ple-ease. Ryou, please.” Ryou raises his brows in surprise at the begging, but doesn’t tease him any longer, dipping his head to lave the flat of his tongue over his dick. Bakura groans at the wet contact, fingers fisting in the blanket. He could lose it already if he didn’t hold himself back, abdominal muscles tensing, dick twitching in Ryou’s hold. He bites down on his lip and Ryou is amazed at his will, at the way his muscles stand out along his stomach and shoulders and forearms.

“You’re gorgeous.” Ryou stares up his body, brown eyes warm and deep.

The flush on Bakura’s face deepens, looking down at Ryou. The compliment overwhelms him and he runs his fingers through Ryou’s loose hair to distract himself. “I look like you.”

Ryou giggles, actually giggles, a blush stealing across his features. “Then I’m very vain.” He doesn’t look away from Bakura as his tongue pushes over his lip, licking around his head and dipping into his slit. He doesn’t close his eyes even as he guides his cock into his mouth, as the tip disappears behind his lips, white lashes finally sweeping down as precum drips onto his tongue, moaning at the taste.

“Ah, Min…” His fingers reflexively tighten in Ryou’s locks and it draws a soft whine from him. Bakura can’t look away as he sucks him, wet heat surrounding his dick. Ryou encircles the base of his cock with his fingers, dropping his head lower, controlling the slide of Bakura along his tongue. He uses his tongue to cup the vein on his dick, lifting his head slowly, sucking, his fine cheekbones standing out. Bakura groans again, nails scratching against his scalp. He wants to hold out, needs to make it last, stretching back on the blanket. He bends his right knee, surprised when Ryou bumps his shoulder under his thigh, hooking his leg over his back.

Ryou’s tongue slides almost lazily over his shaft and around his head, mouthing wetly at the sensitive skin, stroking what his mouth isn’t on. He loves the taste of him, loves his reactions, loves the fingers in his hair. He doesn’t think of anything else, sucking him into his mouth again and humming. Bakura curses and tugs on his hair and Ryou tightens around his dick in response. Bakura thrusts up into his mouth, needing more, the vibrations of Ryou’s noises wrenching desperate whimpers from him. He forces his head up to watch the white haired man between his thighs, his dick, shiny with spit sliding between his lips. Ryou opens his eyes and catches Bakura’s hungry gaze, moaning around his length, his own cock heavy under his own hips. His eyes drop to Bakura’s chest, free hand reaching up to pinch one of his nipples.

The sharp sensation coupled with the suction around his dick undoes him. Bakura’s eyes slam shut, dropping his head back, hips bucking up into his mouth. His abs and thighs tense, toes curling over his back and yanking on his hair as he cums, ejaculating into Ryou’s hot mouth. Ryou relaxes to take it, throat tightening as he swallows the salty liquid. He pops off, licking a broad flat swipe over his tip, lips puffy and shiny with spit. His voice is thick, rough. “Are you alright?”

The query strikes Bakura as funny, laughing breathlessly as he tries to get his heartrate to return to normal. “Yes. Holy Min, yes.” Ryou gives him a quizzical look which Bakura waves off. “An old god. I-… I don’t know why I invoked him.”

Ryou pulls himself up Bakura’s body, kissing him softly, the taste of the former spirit still clinging to his lips. “Maybe that’s part of who you are. That you believe in the old gods.” He cups his face, mouth tender against Bakura’s, sinking against him as Bakura wraps his arms around him. He whimpers with the hard line of his cock trapped between them, grinding down against him. “Bakura, I…” He blushes, looking down at him with naked want.

“I got you.” Bakura steals another kiss and rolls them, laying Ryou out over the blanket and sliding down his body. He slips his palms up the outside of his thighs, pushing the grey galabia higher to expose his crotch, fitting between his legs. Ryou’s length is flushed and warm against his pelvis and Bakura lowers his head to nose up the pink skin. “I got you.” Ryou sighs, body arching into the gentle contact.

Bakura cups his hips to hold him still. He’s never actually done this but he can follow what Ryou had just done and his own intuition, licking slowly over his shaft. The taste is different than Ryou’s mouth, warmer on his tongue, and he repeats the motion. The man under him whines, trying to buck against his lips. Petting Bakura had turned him on, sucking him off made him ache. Now Bakura was lavishing attention on his dick and he can’t take the soft kisses up and down his length. “’Kura… ‘Kura, please. I need you to…”

His former spirit blinks up at him, lips hovering over his skin. He grins slowly and digs his nails into Ryou’s hips. He squeals in surprise, twisting his hips up and moaning as the movement makes Bakura’s nails drag across this flesh. “Ah, oh god…” Bakura’s tongue swirls around his head once, twice, and then he finally sucks him into his mouth. “Oh god…” Ryou’s fingers reach down, tangling in Bakura’s silver tresses and guiding him to drop his head lower, to swallow more of his length. He hesitates until Ryou whines desperately under him. He forces his mouth to open wider, taking in as much as he can. He chokes as he hits the back of his throat, drool slipping past his lips as he pulls back. Ryou immediately apologizes, removing his hands from his head. “Sorry. Oh my gosh, I-”

“Don’t.” Bakura wipes his chin with the back of his hand. “Don’t apologize.” His pupils are blown wide in his eyes, the irises almost absorbed in the black. “And don’t stop.” He grabs Ryou’s hand and directs it back to his hair as he sucks him into his mouth again. He doesn’t try to drop as far down this time and Ryou doesn’t push as hard and soon they find a rhythm of Bakura swallowing a little less than he can handle and Ryou making him take everything he can. Ryou’s breathing becomes ragged, hips rolling upwards until Bakura’s grip tightens to hold him down. His fingers clasp his hair as much to direct the rise and fall of his head as to hold on.

“’Kura, ‘Kura, you’re going to make me…” His words trail off until he’s merely repeating the nickname. His muscles tense and he thrusts up into Bakura’s mouth as his orgasm hits him. Bakura tries to swallow, like Ryou swallowed, but it’s too strange a sensation against his tongue and he pulls off before Ryou’s done, cum hitting his chin and cheek. He can’t make himself swallow what hit his tongue, turning his head to spit onto the rocks. “S-sorry,” Ryou pants.

Bakura shrugs and uses the edge of the blanket to wipe his face off. “Stop apologizing. I didn’t complain.” He holds himself over Ryou, long hair hanging down over his shoulders. “I should-” A yawn interrupts his words, eyes feeling heavy, head bent forward. Ryou opens his arms.

“You should lay down and sleep.” Bakura doesn’t argue for once, smoothing out Ryou’s galabia and stretching out over him, arms bracketing Ryou’s sides. Ryou gathers the blanket around them, arms wrapped over Bakura’s back to hold him close, hoping he’ll actually sleep now.

Under his cheek, Bakura can feel the spots of raised scar tissue on Ryou’s chest but Bakura falls asleep before he can apologize for them. Ryou runs his fingers through Bakura’s hair until his breathing also evens out and he gives into slumber tucked under the other.

It’s close to dawn when Marik and Ishtar find them still sleeping outside, each dressed in one half of a full outfit again. Marik ascends another step, intent on waking them until he feels Ishtar’s gentle touch on his wrist. “Let them be. They need their time together.” Marik regards him over his shoulder. “They were never the same person, but they shared a body. They experienced years together. They fought each other and they fought together. They’re bound as much as we are. Let them be.”

Marik turns and descends back to stand on the same level as his once-alternate self. “When did you get so insightful?”

Ishtar shrugs with a slight grin. “Probably when I got rid of your shallow ass.”

“I am not shallow! And my ass is damn fine.” Marik tries to cross his arms over his chest but Ishtar won’t release his wrist. He chuckles at Marik’s posturing, tugging lightly on his wrist.

“Yes you are and yes it is.” He leads him back into the tomb. “Now let’s fix breakfast for them. Bakura is a bitch without his coffee.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "Return to Innocence" by Enigma.


	16. Chapter 16

_Classes start in 2 weeks! When do you come home?_

_Yo! I’m starting a duel club. First meeting is next Wednesday! Be there, dude._

_Eventually, you have to return to your studies, son._

Ryou stares at the string of most recent emails in his long-neglected account. He had been living in Egypt for almost three months and, much as he tries to ignore it, the life he’d left behind was still waiting for him. His eyes go vacant as he sets the glowing laptop next to him, curling his knees up to his chest where he sits on Ishizu’s living room floor. The voices of Marik, Ishizu, and occasionally Amir drift from the kitchen where they fix a midday meal. Marik and he had come for their usual supplies – tea, coffee, food, disposable phones, batteries – and Ryou asked if he could check his email.

His eyes refocus on the screen with a sinking feeling. He had enrolled in the upcoming semester long before he had received the text from Marik. His flat in Domino City had been sublet for the summer but he would be expected to return as classes resumed. His father and his friends anticipated his return to school. His head falls back against the wall as he’s overwhelmed, eyes closing.

Before leaving Japan, Ryou had told everyone he was following in his father’s path and going to Egypt to study ancient antiquities. It wasn’t a complete lie as the Ishtar tomb had contained several artifacts museums would have begged to have in their collections. There were a few he knew they could have sold to illegal dealers for a good price, but he couldn’t bring himself to ask Marik to part with what was his family’s history. His father had been thrilled that Ryou showed renewed interest in ancient Egyptian archaeology and happily financed much of Ryou’s initial needs. He even offered to put Ryou in contact with several professors in Cairo which Ryou had politely declined. Thankfully, his father quickly fell back into the habit of being too consumed by his own work to worry after his son. It stung but it also gave Ryou some relief not to lie to his own father.

It had been harder to lie to Yugi and the others. They knew too well his connection to Egypt and couldn't understand why he would want to return. He had to point out several times that he hadn't really gotten to see Egypt as Bakura had been in control for much of that trip. Each time, his explanations were met with pointed comments, or in Joey's case outright insults, about the spirit of the Ring. It made his heart ache every time but he had long ago given up on trying to justify Bakura's actions. If they could know about Kul Elna and yet not sympathize with the spirit's rage, then nothing Ryou could say to them would get through.

There was no way he would be able to explain that he'd gone away to bring Bakura back, not just for Marik but for himself as well. He wouldn't know where to begin with telling them about Ishtar either. _Hey guys! Marik and I summoned Bakura and he's got a physical body now and we accidentally brought back Marik's alternate personality as well and he's got his own body too. What did you do this summer?_

Amir startles Ryou from his reverie by patting his head. “Unka Ru!” The child prattles on in Arabic, Ryou smiling at the child though he only catches every fifth word. Amir had been reluctant to greet him this time, unsure if it was Ryou or Bakura at first. Ishizu’s warm welcome had let him know that this was Ryou and since then, Amir had resumed treating Ryou as his personal oversized teddy bear. He chuckles as the toddler runs back toward the kitchen, Marik’s blonde head popping around the corner. Ryou gives him a tired smile from the floor.

“Is everything okay?” Marik dodges Amir before he barrels into him, stepping into the living room, concern clear in his lavender eyes.

The Brit gestures to the laptop. “Real life beckons.” He clicks his tongue, unable to look up to meet Marik’s eyes.

Frown lines crease Marik’s face as he looks from Ryou to the laptop and back. “Real life? Does that mean I’m not real?” He settles on the floor next to Ryou, back to the kitchen, leaning close. “Are Bakura and Ishtar not real?” His voice lowers at the mention of the others. While Ishizu obviously knew they’d been successful in bringing Bakura back, they still had not told her about Ishtar. “This isn’t real?” His fingers reach out to brush Ryou’s hair off his face, curling down his cheek, thumb brushing over his lips.

“It’s a dream. A living dream,” Ryou replies, brown eyes opening to look at Marik. His heart aches. “I have school. I have a flat. I have an entire life outside of this and they expect me to return to it. I have to go back.”

Marik’s heart jumps to his throat and then plummets to his stomach. He knew this would eventually happen, that Ryou would leave, abandoning him to his life in the tomb. The destiny Marik had tried so hard to escape was never meant for Ryou. Yet the moment still seems to come far too soon to Marik. “When are you going?” He doesn’t want to ask. He wants to throw a fit and tell him no, forbid him from going. He wants to cling to him, to steal him away, but Marik’s not the spoiled kid he was during Battle City. He knows what it means not to get his own way now.

Ryou’s pale fingers tap at the keyboard to keep the machine awake. “Classes start in two weeks. I registered for classes in the spring and Father would be so disappointed in me if I drop out. Unless…” Marik waits for him to continue, not daring to hope. “Unless I try to transfer to Cairo University. I might have to take a semester off as their registration has probably passed.” The words spill rapidly from his lips, thinking as he talks. “Father would probably support the transfer and he knows some professors there still. I would… I would still have to go back to Domino City. I would need to pack up my flat and move and…” Ryou rubs his forehead. “I’d have to say goodbye to everyone there.”

Tan fingers rest on his shoulder. Years ago, Marik would have mocked Ryou’s friends. He would have insisted that he didn’t owe them a goodbye. He understands Ryou better now. He recognizes that they weren’t merely friends to Ryou. They were the supplemental family unit he created for himself, as much as the Ring spirit would allow any way. Ryou fiddles with the laptop. “Is that what you want to do? To stay here in Egypt?" He squeezes Ryou's shoulder. "Don’t change your life if that’s not what you really want.”

A white brow arches as Ryou lifts his eyes to Marik. “My life is already changed. I think I knew it would the moment I agreed to come. Even if we hadn’t brought them back, I don’t think I could have gone on with my life as it was. I'm not Yugi. I can't pretend that Bakura didn't change who I was, that I am happy he lost. That's what they all expect. For me to be happy that he was gone. I wasn't. I was bored. And lonely.” He rests his cheek against Marik’s hand, eyes on the laptop screen. “I’m not lonely and certainly not bored anymore.”

Hope spreads like warmth through Marik’s chest. “So you’ll go home and then come back to stay?”

The other man shakes his head. “Domino City isn’t home. I tried to make it my home and it never felt like it. I thought that was because of Bakura, but now I suspect it was me.” He straightens his legs and pulls the laptop closer. “I’ll go back there.” He turns his face to Marik, his smile less tired than before. “And then I’ll come home.”

Marik grins brightly and slides his hand to cup Ryou’s cheek, dipping his head down and dragging his lips against Ryou’s. “Thank you,” he breathes over his mouth.

“For what?” Ryou noses at Marik’s cheek. “I still have to see if I can pull this off.”

He brushes his thumb over Ryou’s cheekbone. “You will and that’s why I’m thanking you.” He leans in, intent on kissing him once more, when Ishizu calls for him. He rolls his eyes, huffing. “She has the worst timing.” Kissing Ryou’s forehead, Marik gets to his feet and leaves Ryou to finally reply to his email.

 

* * *

“No.” Bakura crosses his arms and shakes his head, silver hair dancing over his shoulders. “No, you’re not leaving.” The four men sit around the makeshift table in the tomb’s kitchen later that evening as Ryou shares his plan. Bakura’s movement reveals new bruises over his biceps but neither Marik nor Ryou can ask as his attitude steadily worsens. “You can’t go back there. You can’t go back to those pharaoh-loving fucks.” Marik murmurs his name in admonishment and reaches for his hand. Bakura avoids the touch, slamming his palm down, disturbing their empty dinnerware. “No! You can’t leave us.”

Ishtar growls low in warning. He doesn’t want Ryou to go either but he’ll be damned if he allows Bakura to control Ryou again. “Ryou can do whatever and whomever the fuck he wants.”

“Shut up!” Bakura glares at Ishtar, Ryou sinking farther down into his chair. Marik is torn between comforting him and trying to calm Bakura down. “You can’t possibly want him to leave! Marik!” The Egyptian turns his attention back to Bakura. “Tell him he can’t go.”

“I’m not-”

“Bakura, please-”

"YOU CAN'T LEAVE ME, HOST!"

The chair Ishtar had claimed crashes to the floor as he pushes to his feet, leaning over the table to get in Bakura’s space. Bakura scrambles to stand while Ryou and Marik reach for them both, ready to keep them apart. Ishtar is sick to his stomach at the thought of being apart from Ryou, but he’s incensed by Bakura acting like he still owns Ryou. He jabs his finger at one of the fresh marks on Bakura’s upper arm. “Do you need another attitude adjustment? Sit your ass down.” Whatever was happening between them when they were alone, Marik and Ryou stare in amazement as Bakura drops down into his chair without a word. “I don’t want him to leave. Ra, I don’t want him to leave. But he said he would come back. You have to trust him.”

Mahogany eyes slide to chocolate ones as Ryou and Marik settle back onto their seats. “I do trust him.”

Ishtar grumbles as he retrieves his chair and sets it to rights. “Then fucking act like it.” He sighs and drags his nails along his scalp. “This will be the first time since he received the Ring and since we came back that you’ll really be separated, won’t it? That’s what your problem is.” He falls into the chair, arms crossed as he fixes Bakura with a steady look. “That terrifies you. You don't have that soul bond anymore. You think Ryou will go on with his life and leave you lost in the sand again.” He shakes his head. “You won’t be alone. You won’t disappear. Ryou will come back for you.” He gives Ryou a fond grin. “For all of us.” Ryou straightens and nods in confirmation.

“You’re not my fucking therapist.” Bakura knows Ishtar is right, but he’s still pouting, still scared and vulnerable.

The other man barks out a harsh laugh. “Then our sessions can stop. I’m sure Marik will be happy to have his rope back.” Bakura narrows his eyes but turns away, color spreading over his face.

“My rope?” He sits up straighter in the chair. “Hey! I needed that the other day. You know where it is? I couldn’t find it.”

“Get new rope,” Bakura growls out without offering further explanation or looking up.

“I did today. But what are you doing with it? Ishtar?” Ishtar only smirks at his twin’s confusion.

Ryou clicks his tongue. “Kinky.” Marik makes a soft noise of confusion. Ryou slides off his chair, fingers brushing over Ishtar’s bare shoulders as he passes, perching on Bakura’s lap. Bakura doesn’t open his arms or turn his head, stubborn still. “Is he right? Are you worried about being apart from me?” He lifts Bakura’s hair, massaging the back of his neck. “’Kura? I won’t be gone long. A week, maybe two at most.”

He sighs, rolling his shoulders, arms dropping to encircle Ryou’s hips. Marik gets up to clear the dishes but Ishtar stays put, watching in case Bakura tries to hurt Ryou. “That sounds like forever. What if something happens? What if you don’t come back?”

“Something could happen every time we go to town. Or even here. I had three years to relearn how to live without you. You need to remember how to live without me. Marik and Ishtar will be here with you and I will come home. You'll be okay. I promise.”

“You can’t promise something like that.” His fingers flex on his hips, wanting to bury his face in Ryou’s hair.

“But I do. I promise.” Ryou tips his face up to place a gentle kiss to his mouth. “I promise, ‘Kura. I won’t be away from you for long.”

Bakura still doesn’t feel right about it but he hides his face in Ryou’s snowy strands, clinging to him tightly. Ishtar and Marik exchange a look, both suspecting they’ll have their hands full with Bakura without Ryou. Marik breaks the silence. “I think we’re cleaned up in here. Let’s go to bed.” They both jump as Bakura yelps.

Ryou disentangles his fingers from Bakura's hair, an almost innocent grin on his face as he slips off Bakura's lap. "That was for calling me host. And I get center tonight."

The former spirit rubs the back of his head, glaring. “It’s my turn!"

"Should have thought of that before yelling at me." The Brit grabs his hand and leads him off to bed with a grin, Ishtar's and Marik's laughter echoing behind them.

 

* * *

They can’t all go with Ryou to the airport so a few days later, Bakura and Ishtar say their goodbyes at the tomb door. Bakura had been like a shadow to Ryou and it had only been through Marik and Ishtar's joint efforts in distracting him that Ishtar had been able to fuck Ryou before he left. Bakura's fists stay clenched at his sides, hovering while Marik loads Ryou's travel bag onto the bike. Ryou and Ishtar stand a few feet away and exchange soft words in the early morning light, each kiss lingering a bit more.

"Act right, Bakura." Marik's tone is clipped. He doesn't want Ryou to go either, but he's too worried about keeping Bakura together to give in to his own emotions. "Don't have his memory be of what a little bitch you were when he left."

He snarls at Marik but does force his fingers to uncurl. "I'm not being a bitch. I'm here, aren't I?" Bakura's eyes dart over to Ryou, throat tightening as Ishtar kisses him again. "You'd think they'd sucked face enough last night."

"Bakura!" Marik steps toe-to-toe with him, grabbing him by the back of the neck. The former spirit hisses at him, but it accomplishes Marik's goal of getting his attention. "Stop." He drops his forehead down onto Bakura's, taking a deep breath. "This is hard on all of us, especially Ryou. He's going to be alone while we'll still be together. Don't make leaving worse for him." He bumps their noses together. "Please."

The tomb keeper's proximity makes Bakura mimic his deep steady breathing, muscles slowly relaxing. His eyes search Marik's, hands coming up to rest on his forearms. "I'm scared and I don't get scared."

Marik doesn't dare point out his fear of the dark, instead giving him a soft kiss. "I know. You need to be strong for a little while longer. You can lose it after he leaves. Come on now." He drops his hands from Bakura's neck slowly, taking his hands and squeezing his fingers as he pulls away. "If you're ready, we should probably get going, Ryou."

The white haired man hides his face against Ishtar's shoulder as he collects himself, wiping at his eyes. "Okay." He reaches up to cup Ishtar's cheek, the former shadow then cradling his wrist and moving Ryou’s hand to kiss his palm. They nod at each other, some agreement they don't share with the others, before Ryou steps over to Bakura and Marik. Marik draws away, knowing he can say goodbye at the airport. "Can I get a hug before I leave?"

Bakura bites down on his lip, a soft sound escaping as he wraps his arms around Ryou, hugging him tightly. He's not crying, he's not, but he can feel Ryou's wet cheek against his face and he holds him even closer.

"'Kura, oh 'Kura," Ryou murmurs into his platinum hair, his hands slipping between them to lay over Bakura's chest. "Our bond? It's different now, but it's still there. Right here. I'll come back to you." He presses a kiss to his tear-damp cheek. "I promise."

He sniffs once and releases Ryou, rubbing his hands over his face. "You tell that Ra-damned pipsqueak that I won and his precious pharaoh lost. Got it?"

Ishtar and Marik roll their eyes as Ryou giggles. "I'll tell Yugi you said hi." Marik hands him the helmet before straddling the bike and starting the engine. Ryou looks between Bakura and Ishtar once more, hating to leave them. "Be good. Both of you." With a watery smile, he tugs the helmet on and hops up behind Marik. He tries to turn and wave to them, but a bump over a dune has him clinging to Marik's waist again.

Bakura and Ishtar stand at the tomb door, eyes locked on the motorcycle as it disappears over the horizon, neither moving for some time even after they can no longer see it. They turn, neither breaking the silence as they link their hands together to return underground, two shadows dimmed without their light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "Leave a Light On" by Duran Duran.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter features consensual rope-play bondage. If you are of age in your area and interested in bondage/rope-play, PLEASE seek out BDSM resources online or in your community. This ain't the Boy Scouts, kids.

They last four days before they snap.

Bakura pushes his breakfast away, scowling as though the bowl offended him. "Fucking beans again? Don't you wankers know how to fix anything else?"

"Then learn how to cook if you don't like it, asshole." Marik had barely slept the night before, sitting at the table bleary eyed and huddled into his galabia, knees drawn up. He pokes at his own food. He wasn't especially hungry but he wasn't going to gripe about it.  "Swear to Ra, you've done nothing but whine since Ryou left."

"Fuck you, tomb keeper. Learn how to fix something else. I'm hungry." Bakura crosses his arms, glowering at the other man now. Marik mutters something under his breath in Arabic and Bakura barely catches the word _iksu_. "What was that? Want to say that to my face?"

Ishtar's eyes bounce between them as he finishes his food. He already knows how this is going to end, knew it as soon as Bakura had come in snarling for his coffee, pants low on his hips, the last set of bruises Ishtar gave him faded. He had gotten up from the bed first, Marik following close behind, and cooked breakfast for all of them while Bakura still slept. Ishtar knew Marik wasn't sleeping so he was just as happy when Marik sat down and let him work. If he had to stay sane and play the little homemaker in Ryou's absence, then he would.  
  
Marik drags a hand down his face. "I'm not your fucking servant. Either eat what we fix or starve. Ryou never complained."

The former spirit growls. "I'm not bloody Ryou!"

"Obviously. Ryou isn't a fucking bitch."  
  
The tension in the kitchen breaks like a tsunami at their barbs. Bakura lunges across the table, reaching for Marik, ready to vent all his aggression onto him, only to be stopped by a dark hand snapping out and grabbing a fist full of his hair. He whimpers at the flash of pain and tries to pull his head out of Ishtar's grasp, fingers curling. Marik flinches back from the table, lavender eyes widening as Bakura scratches at Ishtar's wrist. "Let me go! Fucking psycho, let me go!"

The hand in his hair shakes his head causing Bakura to stop his scratching. The grip brings Bakura's face closer. "You need a time-out." Ishtar's voice is low, dark, full of promise and threat. Bakura's breathing stutters, face heating as he realizes what's coming. Marik meets Bakura's eyes, lost in the dynamic between his twin and his... whatever Bakura is to him. Ishtar pulls, yanking Bakura by his hair away from Marik and the table, dragging him out of the kitchen, Bakura still protesting the way he's being manhandled.

Marik watches them go, the kitchen silent in their absence, poking once more at his breakfast. He had been aware of something going on between the other two, obvious bruises and scratches marring their skin, but he hadn't known how to ask. Both always wore their marks calmly, never offering to explain where they would disappear to or what they did. He eats, lost in his thoughts, unsure how he would feel if Bakura was sleeping with Ishtar. Sure, Marik was involved with both Ryou and Bakura but it felt different when he was the one left out. He knew that was unfair and ridiculous, especially considering he hadn't had sex with either of them. Yet. But if Bakura was getting it from Ishtar... And there was the nagging question of his missing rope. Marik cleans up from their breakfast, lost in his own head. Ryou had seemed to figure out what they were doing before he left, but Marik had never had the chance to ask. Finally, he lets curiosity take over, leaving the dishes to air dry, footsteps soundless as he goes to look for them.

 

* * *

"Comfortable, _djinni_?" Ishtar purrs the question in Bakura's ear as he pulls his silver hair back in a low ponytail, mindful to free it from the rope. Bakura grunts in reply, unable to speak for the cloth jammed into his mouth, snapping his fingers twice. _Yes_.

Their "sessions" as Ishtar calls them were almost routine now. Sometimes, Bakura would corner Ishtar and ask for one. Others, like this morning, Ishtar would drag Bakura away. In a small room tucked away from their main living quarters, Bakura would end up on the floor, usually on his knees as Ishtar secured the rope in a variety of knots, binding Bakura much like he'd once restrained Ishtar. Today is a simple position, kneeling with his thighs apart, hands behind his head, wrists bound to his ankles, back bowed with the slight stretch. A clean cloth gags him, silencing any noises he might make as much as it prevents him from making any flippant comments. They had both learned to leave Bakura's fingers free, allowing him to communicate by snapping. One, no. Two, yes. Three or more? Harder. Faster. More.

Ishtar trails a finger down Bakura's exposed chest. The Shadow Realm had deprived them of sensation. Contact could still be overwhelming, but the absence of it would set them both on edge. Ishtar had found his release in Ryou. Bakura, however, needed somewhat more. So the rope rubbed against his bare skin, his muscles stretched and burned, and the aching pain calmed and centered him. He would leave their sessions relaxed, almost happy, often searching out Ryou or Marik and draping over them affectionately. But first, Ishtar had to bring him to that point. Bakura's breathing speeds up, eyes locked on Ishtar as he stalks around him.

"You do understand you're not the only one missing Ryou, yes?" Bakura's nostrils flare. "Yes, yes. You were bonded to him and have a history that we do not. Was that history really so wonderful? You are still possessive of him though you have no claim to his body any longer. He does not belong to you." Bakura's lip curls as he pulls against the ropes. "Ryou continued on with his life and even shared part of that life with Marik. Is that why you harbor resentment toward _nafsi_? Your attitude to him grows increasingly boring." Bakura narrows his eyes and looks away, snapping his fingers once decisively. _No._ "Then why can you not find comfort in each other while Ryou is gone? He loves you. He brought you out of the shadows through his love for you." Ishtar catches Bakura's chin, forcing him to meet his eyes. "Is it possible you don't love him in return?"

Bakura's heart stops at the question. Marik had been quite clear on his feelings, yet Bakura had never been able to say the words himself. He didn't know if he could love. The last people he loved had died thousands of years ago. He wasn't sure he had the ability to love any longer. Ishtar was right. Bakura was possessive of Ryou and he would defend him, but was that love? He and Marik were partners, had been partners, and he martyred himself once in an attempt to save Marik. But had that been love? He would fight Zorc himself for Marik's happiness. Bakura would sacrifice himself all over again for Marik.

"Well? Do you love him?"

Two slow strong snaps answer.

"Love who?" Marik enters the room, frowning at Ishtar's back, gasping as he steps aside to reveal Bakura's position. "Oh Ra... what... What are you doing?!" He stands frozen by the door, Bakura's face going bright pink as their eyes meet. Marik mistakes the scene completely and when Bakura whimpers behind the cloth, he rushes across the room to him, pushing Ishtar away. "Are you hurting him?! What the fuck?! Bakura, Bakura, I'm sorry." He yanks the gag out. "I didn't re-"

"Marik! Marik, stop." Bakura licks his dry lips, face still heated. "He's not hurting me. I need this." He looks to Ishtar, wanting him to speak up, to help explain, but Ishtar only leans back against the wall, smirking at them.

"Need?" Marik asks incredulously. "You need to be tied up and gagged?! What in the fuck?" He stretches and leans over Bakura's head, inspecting the ropes, the movement putting his hips in Bakura's face. It forces Bakura’s muscles to stretch farther, unable to turn his head away. He can feel the line of Marik’s cock along his lips and Bakura whimpers against his crotch, swaying, eyes closing. "...Bakura?"

It's enough for Ishtar to intervene, hand clasping gently on Marik's arm. "Hey." He pulls Marik back. "He's fine." Marik jerks away from his hold, ready to light into him, Ishtar throwing his hands up. "Bakura needs this. He's not in any pain that he doesn't want."

The Egyptian's lavender eyes bounce between them. "Is this a sex thing?"

Ishtar laughs, Bakura's head hanging down in embarrassment. "Not usually. If he gets himself off afterwards, I'm not involved. I have noticed he pitches a tent from time to time."

"You shut your whore mouth!" Bakura's blush extends from his cheeks down his throat. He can't hide that he is aroused now though it was more from Marik shoving his dick in his face than anything Ishtar had done.

Marik's face colors as his eyes drop to Bakura's crotch. "Then... Why?"

The ropes creak as Bakura shifts, the muscles in his arms aching pleasantly, but he doesn't answer. Ishtar's voice is gentle. "We need the contact to keep us in line. The Shadow Realm is nothing. There's nothing to feel but your own emotions, your own madness, there. This-" He gestures to Bakura. "It gives us both an emotional and mental release. I don't have to be nice. He doesn't have to win. You haven't noticed how quiet he is when I return him to you? That's his drop afterwards."

He nods slowly. "Quiet and physical." His eyes are drawn to the fabric stretched over Bakura's hips. "If it's not sexual, then why is he turned on now?"

Bakura rolls his eyes. "One, I'm right here. And two, you just pushed your dick in my face." Ishtar chuckles, stepping behind Bakura, intending to release him.

"...wait." Marik steps closer, his quiet command making Ishtar pause. He gazes down at Bakura, eyes speculative. "We've never..." He cups his cheek, thumb rubbing over his lip. Bakura's mouth opens, tongue slipping across his lip after Marik's thumb.

Ishtar straightens and catches the motion, the suddenly different tension. "What? You mean you two have never blown each other?" They both shake their heads. "You repressed little fuckers." He drags his nails over his scalp. "Well. It would be a shame to have done all this work on his knots and not use it." His hands rest on the rope binding Bakura's wrists. Marik may be the unspoken head of what passes for their household, but Ishtar is still in charge of this scene and Bakura's comfort is his responsibility. "Is this something you want?"

Bakura tilts his head back to see Ishtar, searching his eyes for a moment before straightening his head to look up at Marik. Two snaps. _Yes._

Marik looks between them in confusion. Ishtar chuckles, petting Bakura's head just once. "That's a yes. Once is no, twice is yes. Call for me when you're finished and I'll untie him." He steps from behind Bakura, clapping Marik on the shoulder as he comes in line with him. His eyes widen as Marik lays his free hand over Ishtar's.

"Don't leave."

The former spirit's heart jumps as the two almost twins stare into each other's eyes, some unspoken communication passing between them. Slowly, as though he's worried he might spook Marik, Ishtar leans in, darkening eyes going from Marik's eyes to his mouth, brushing their lips together. It's wrong, it's so wrong, but Marik doesn't pull away, instead pressing into the kiss for more. From his position on the floor, Bakura can see everything and he turns his face into Marik's hand, whimpering, cock swelling more in his pants.

Twin chuckles float from above him. “Something the matter?” Ishtar folds to one knee in front of Bakura. Though Bakura’s blushing hotly, he snaps his fingers once. _No._ “Maybe we can find something better to use as a gag for you.” He smirks up at Marik, running a hand up his thigh. Marik’s eyes go half-lidded and dark, the color more similar to Ishtar’s now, flicking between him and Bakura. “Any ideas, _nafsi_?”

The fabric of his galabia bunches in Marik’s fists as he pulls it over his head. Ishtar hums in approval. Bakura’s eyes travel down Marik’s naked body, locking onto his dick. Bakura licks his lips without thinking and both of them catch how Marik’s dick twitches in response, slowly hardening. It’s Ishtar who reacts first, who actually has his hands free to palm Marik’s length, stroking him into a full erection. Bakura whimpers again, drawing Ishtar’s attention back to him. “Ah, poor _djinni_. You’ve not been forgotten.” He bends his head to Bakura’s, tongue dragging wetly over his lips. “No biting.” Ishtar gets to his feet, standing behind Marik, chin resting on his shoulder. His fingers wrap around his shaft as he nudges him closer to Bakura. “Open.”

Bakura tries to straighten, the ropes creaking, lean muscles standing out. He obeys, lips parting, tongue lolling out. Ishtar hums again and guides the tip of Marik’s dick into Bakura’s mouth. Marik inhales sharply, hips rolling forward, shaft sliding over Bakura’s tongue. He groans and when he pulls his hips back, he finds the hard column of Ishtar’s cock pressing into his ass. A pleasant shiver goes down his spine and he repeats the motion, rocking forward into the wet heat of Bakura’s mouth and back against the pressure of Ishtar’s crotch.

The other man removes his hand from his dick once Marik’s motions are steady enough to stay between Bakura’s lips, resting his fingers on his hips. His violet eyes watch over Marik’s shoulder, how his cock gets shiny with Bakura’s spit, how Bakura’s lips swell and darken with the abrasion, how Marik’s hand reaches out, fingers tangling in Bakura’s white hair, holding his head still to take each thrust deeper. Bakura moans, lashes fluttering though he forces them to stay open, looking up to watch them. Ishtar smirks, his own cock throbbing in his pants where it’s rubbing against Marik’s ass, nosing his hair out of the way to lick a long stripe up his throat. The noise Marik makes is desperate, wanton, tipping his head back against his twin’s shoulder. Ishtar nips at his shoulder, causing Marik’s hips to buck deeper into Bakura’s mouth, the bound man gagging, drool slipping down his chin.

Marik reaches back with the hand not buried in Bakura’s hair, grasping at Ishtar’s thigh, nails digging in for purchase. It’s too much for him, sandwiched between them, precum dripping onto Bakura’s tongue. His heart races, warmth pooling low in his groin, hair sticking to his forehead. He swallows as he tries to find his voice. “Ishtar… B-bakura-ah… Ah…” He feels more than hears Ishtar laughing behind him, his back pressed against his chest. It should bother him, the thought skips across his mind, to have someone touching his scars so fully, but Ishtar’s skin over his scars actually makes him feel good, makes the skin not itch quite so much. Then Bakura moans and all thoughts are forgotten as he thrusts forward again.

Bakura’s jaw aches along with his muscles while his dick is caught under his pants, hot along his lower abdomen, wet with the steady throb of precum being released. His cheeks hollow as Marik pulls back, sucking hard at his length. His hips stutter in their motion, gasping, wrist twisting to palm Ishtar’s crotch. “D-don’t. Not yet.” He can barely put words together, but he has to voice his desire or risk losing the moment. He turns his face to Ishtar’s, eyes fogged over with lust. “I want to watch you do this to him.” Ishtar arches a brow in surprise but gently places Marik’s hand back on his thigh.

“Then don’t touch yet.” His eyes meet Bakura’s, questioning. Two snaps, no hesitation. “You best hurry then, _nafsi_. Or I’ll just end up coating your back instead.” Marik trembles at the thought and for several minutes, the only noises are the rough sounds of their breathing and the wet sounds of Bakura’s lips on Marik’s cock. Marik tilts his face back and to the side, lips seeking Ishtar’s, moaning against his mouth as they kiss. The sight makes Bakura whine around Marik’s shaft, the vibration shooting through him, causing him to wrench away from the kiss, muscles tensing, curling over Bakura as his orgasm rips through him, cumming in his mouth.

“Fuck…” he pants out as Bakura swallows, licking over Marik’s head to get every drop. Drained, Marik pulls out, folding to his knees to stare into Bakura’s eyes. He steals one kiss and falls over onto his hip, slipping over to sit next to Bakura’s side. Without a word, Bakura opens his mouth again, Marik’s last drops of cum still on his tongue as he holds it out for Ishtar. The other man pushes his pants lower on his hips, cock flushed as he steps closer. The color on Marik’s face goes deeper, realizing that Ishtar is thicker than he is, and trying not to think about how it would feel to take him. Ishtar fists Bakura’s hair much like Marik had, but whereas Marik’s motions had been tentative at first, Ishtar thrusts forward, hitting the back of Bakura’s throat immediately.

Tears well in Bakura’s eyes, throat closing around his head reflexively. Ishtar pulls back enough for it not to be painful, on edge already. “Still enjoying yourself?” The snaps don’t come as quickly, but two weak ones echo in the chamber. Ishtar’s hands slides through his hair, comforting. “You can always say no,” he says, completely meaning it and Bakura knows it. Two stronger snaps answer him. “Alright,” and Ishtar bucks into his mouth again repeatedly. Marik’s eyes are soft as he watches them, occasionally catching Bakura’s glance before being drawn back to his mouth.

He clears his throat, voice like velvet near Bakura’s ear. “Come on, Ishtar. You must be aching without Ryou.” Ishtar groans above them, thrusts becoming sharper. Marik grins, rousing himself enough for mischief, slipping a hand over Bakura’s crotch. It earns him Bakura’s dark eyes back on him and a needy whine. This, this they’ve done before, furtive handjobs in the tunnels when neither can deny their need for each other any longer. His tan fingers wedge under the waistband of Bakura’s pants and dance over his head. Bakura moans even louder, Ishtar cursing in Arabic at the sensation. Marik repositions himself to jack Bakura harder, his motions slick from the precum coating his dick. “Make it dirty for him, Bakura. Remind him you’re not his precious little mouse.” Bakura’s lip curls back from his teeth, saliva hanging from his lip to Ishtar’s cock just a moment before Ishtar shoves back into him roughly.

Bakura wants to thrust into Marik’s hand, the rope preventing him from doing so, groaning. His eyes roll back into his head when Marik squeezes, noises muffled on Ishtar’s dick as he jizzes all over Marik’s hand and in his pants. His eyes are on Marik’s when Ishtar pulls out. “Open,” he growls and Bakura automatically obeys, only to be rewarded with Ishtar’s cum landing on his cheek, the bridge of his nose, and eventually on his tongue. Bakura grimaces while Ishtar pants breathlessly, smirking down at him. “Definitely not my _fa’r_.” The former spirit narrows his eyes but Marik coos, wiping at the mess with his thumb, still coated with Bakura’s jism. He sucks it into his mouth, cleaning the combined mess from his skin, the action defusing any irritation between them. Between his own tongue and feeding some of Ishtar’s cum to Bakura, they get rid of the mess though their skin remains sticky.

Ishtar stretches, brushing his hand over Marik’s hair as he steps around them, bending to work on Bakura’s knots. “Brace his arms. They need to come down slow or it will be painful.” Marik shifts to kneel before Bakura once more, smiling softly as his palms rest on his triceps. Ishtar’s long fingers know how to undo the knots without rubbing unnecessarily over Bakura’s pale skin, the rope unraveling from around his wrists first. Marik’s hands take the loose weight of his arms, rubbing the muscles as he guides them down to Bakura’s sides. The rope slides from around his ankles and Bakura leans forward onto Marik with a sigh. Ishtar massages the muscles in his legs, helping the blood circulation, admiring the developing bruises. He pets Bakura and Marik, smiling at them. “Help me get him to bed. This is going to be an especially hard drop.”

Marik grabs his galabia and throws it over his shoulder, hooking his arm around Bakura. Ishtar mirrors him and together they get Bakura on shaky legs to his feet. He leans heavily on them, limbs sore and limp as they walk back to the bedroom. They deposit him as carefully as they can on the bed, Marik stripping off his filthy pants as Ishtar dampens a cloth to wipe his face and hips. Through barely slitted eyes, Bakura watches the almost twins use the cloth to clean each other, their touches light and awed. He wants to say something, longs to tell them how beautiful they are, but sleep weighs down his tongue. He shivers, the drop hitting him, whimpering. Both of the other men turn and without another word, crawl into bed with him, once on each side, cradling him between the heat of their bodies. Though it’s only midday, they each fall into sleep easily, no dreams haunting them for once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "Torture Me" by Metric. It's not a perfect song for this chapter, but the lyrics were good.


	18. Chapter 18

**_From: Bakura, Ryou_ **

**_To: Ishtar, Marik_ **

**_cc: Ishtar, Ishizu_ **

_Hi! I copied Ishizu and hopefully she'll remind you to check your email. Everything is fine here in DC. Dreadfully boring though. Never realized how dull before. Yugi and the gang say hello. (Tea says she'll babysit Amir for you, Ishizu.)_

_I think it may take longer than I planned to make the move. When did I get so much stuff? I'm giving some things to Yugi and I can ship some to Dad's flat at least. Dad is still working with the professors he knows in Cairo. I've withdrawn from DCU so fingers crossed!_

_I'll try to get everything wrapped up as quickly as I can. Take care of yourself and everyone back home. See you as soon as possible._

Ryou hits send for the email and closes his laptop, knowing he won't have a response today and maybe not even tomorrow. He rubs his eyes and stretches. The first few days back in Domino City had been incredibly busy. The registrar's office had been slammed with it being so close to the start of the year and he'd waited almost half a day before he could submit his withdrawal paperwork and request his transcripts. He still had to wait a few days for those. Then there was packing which had frankly been daunting. He'd started sorting each room into piles: going to Cairo, going to London, giving to Yugi, donation, trash. Yugi insisted he didn't want anything, until Ryou pointed out that the stuff would be tossed otherwise.

And Yugi... Ryou sighs and pads to the kitchen to fix himself some tea. His kettle would be the last thing he packed. Yugi had been thrilled when Ryou said he was coming back. The gang had picked him up at the airport and it hadn't been until later that evening that Ryou had even been able to tell them he was moving. Joey and Tristan fussed but in the end, they were fine with letting Ryou do his own thing, as they always had. Tea had a strange look in her eyes and Ryou suspected she was thinking about her own dreams to escape Domino City. Yugi hadn't said anything, not until the others had left.

"Are you really sure about this, Ryou?" Yugi sat at the kitchen table, hands clasped around a mug of tea. His huge purple eyes, so different from Marik's, Ryou noticed, gazed at him in worry.

Ryou sipped his own tea and nodded. "I am. I'm not meant to be here. Egypt... Egypt feels right. We'll still be able to chat. Emails and Skype and we can game online."

Yugi frowned. "But you'll be alone."

The Brit didn't point out that he'd been on his own, save the spirit, for much of his time in Domino City. "Being alone is something I'm used to. And I won't be all alone. Marik is in Egypt." He closed his eyes and mentally cursed himself. He had never told Yugi about Marik's text.

"Marik Ishtar?" Yugi's frown deepened. "Did you see him when you were there?" Ryou nodded, picking up his tea and bringing it to his lips, figuring there was no point in lying now. Yugi's look turned speculative. "Is he still as hot as he was a few years ago?" Ryou choked on his tea, his face burning bright. Yugi rushed to pat him on the back. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. It's only that if you didn't mention him until now, I thought there must be a reason." Ryou waved him off to signal he was okay, Yugi going back to his seat. "You know I don't care, right? If you're attracted to him. Makes more sense than Duke, anyways."

Ryou coughed to clear his throat. "Duke? I don't fancy Duke. And Marik..."

Yugi shook his head. "You don't have to explain. Just be careful. Right after you left, it was on the news that the Millennium Rod was stolen. I know Marik said he wasn't leading the Rare Hunters anymore, but well. It wouldn't be the first time he lied to us." Ryou stared at his coffee cup. He couldn't explain that Marik wasn't lying, that Marik didn't have the Rod. Not anymore.

Ryou had it.

He groans, face in his hands at the memory as the kettle whistles. Even without Bakura's influence, Ryou still found himself deceiving his friends.

 

* * *

**_From: Ishtar, Marik_ **

**_To: Bakura, Ryou_ **

_I came to Ishizu's as soon as she texted. Bakura is with me. I couldn't get him to stay at the tomb. Everything is okay here. We still haven't told Ishizu about you know what. There is too much baggage there. He's waiting for you though._

_Is there anything we can do to help? Ishizu might still have some contacts through the museum. I could ask her to make some calls._

_Hurry back. We miss you._

"I don’t like him in my home, little brother." In the kitchen, Ishizu hisses the words in Arabic at Marik where he stands after replying to Ryou. "I don’t want him around Amir."

"He's done nothing and Amir is asleep, sister." He crosses his arms, head tilted down. It had been a strange day for them both when they realized he was finally taller by several inches. "If you don't provoke him-"

"He needs no provocation and you know it." Ishizu turns, chopping vegetables for their noon meal with more force than she intends. "He was sent to the Shadows for a reason. You should never have brought him back."

Marik doesn't bother to disguise the hurt on his face. "Ishizu..."

His sister looks over her shoulder at him, sighing. "You love him. Of course you do. I tried." She refocuses on the vegetables. "I tried to do my best with you. I tried to keep you out of trouble. But you are a grown man now. I can’t save you from yourself nor protect your heart."

He worries at his lower lip with his teeth. "Bakura's not going to break my heart." Bakura's head pokes into the kitchen, unable to understand their conversation but catching his name, and Marik waves him away. He shrugs and withdraws. "You have to trust me, sister."

"Why could you not have fallen for Ryou? He would be a good influence on you. Instead he is giving up his life to come here. For what?" Marik can't answer her. He isn't ready to tell her about Ishtar or how Marik has feelings for Ryou too. Ishizu sighs again. "I only want you to be happy. Now tell the beast to come here. Lunch is ready."

 

* * *

**_From: Bakura, Ryou_ **

**_To: Ishtar, Marik_ **

**_cc: Ishtar, Ishizu_ **

_Who. Not what. I just shipped my last box to London. Ah, I'm going to need housing in Cairo if I can get into school. Too bad you sold your flat, hm? :(_

_I don't know, Marik. It's not looking promising right now. I'm trying to have faith but... Yugi's back in classes now, Joey's working full time, and I've been too long in my own head. It's a lot quieter up there now. :)_

_DCU did reimburse some of my enrollment fees. I'll have to use some of it for the move but we shouldn't have to worry about money for a few months._

_I miss all of you so much. It's so dreary here._

Ryou sets the laptop down on his bed, putting his head down on his knees. It was raining again and with everyone else occupied, Ryou had been left to himself the last few days. He had plenty to do, but he missed the noise. He missed knowing that he only had to walk down the hall and there would be Bakura or Marik or Ishtar. He swallows thickly, rubbing at his eyes. He didn't even have a picture of them. He rolls to his side, pulling a pillow into his arms to muffle his tears.

He must have dozed because when he awakens, it's dark outside, the rain reflecting the street lamps. The beep of his phone had roused him, a text from Yugi who would be over shortly. Ryou sniffles, getting out of bed, determined to put on a happy face and the tea kettle.

 

* * *

_**From: Ishtar, Marik** _

_**To: Bakura, Ryou** _

_Was that a crack about me?! I was a picture-perfect tenant! Except for all the murder and plotting and injuring you. Okay so bad example._

_Sorry! Bakura swiped the laptop and started pecking at the keys. Took him 20 minutes to type that, I swear. Listen, everything will work out. It did for me, didn't it? Ishizu says not to worry about housing. I don't know what she means but I trust her. Obviously._

_When you get back, you're getting the biggest hug. From all of us._

"Bakura! If you want me to type something for you, just ask!" Marik scoops up Amir from the floor. They can't stay as they want to get back to the tomb before nightfall, but Marik can't leave without being affectionate with Amir.

The former spirit huffs and gently tosses a soft ball to the toddler, snorting when he doesn't catch and it hits Marik. "I'm capable to writing my own messages! It simply takes longer." Marik rolls his eyes and picks up the ball. Bakura watches as he hands the ball to Amir, waiting for him to try to throw it back. "...do you think he's okay?"

Marik sighs as Amir throws the ball down to the floor. "I think he misses us, like he said. You know, he didn't hesitate in agreeing to come here when I asked. He finished exams and he was at the airport three days later. He wanted to be here. Still does." He nuzzles Amir's hair, handing him back to Ishizu, murmuring to him. "Let me know when Ryou emails again." Ishizu assures him that she will, catching Bakura's thoughtful look and the gentle way he watches Marik with Amir, thinking.

 

* * *

**_From: Bakura, Ryou_ **

**_To: Ishtar, Marik_ **

**_cc: Ishtar, Ishizu_ **

_God, I'd love that. I really would. No one touches me here. It's lonely._

_Looks like the best I can do is a work-study program in the antiquities department. I really hope I've not screwed myself over to graduate. Ishizu sent me information about the housing and she's arranging to have someone there when my things arrive (thank you again!). At least we'll have some income even if I'm not getting many credits for it._

_Once everything is shipped, I'll make my flight arrangements. Hope to be home soon._

Ryou flops back down onto his mattress, the bedframe having been sold the other day. His flat is almost completely bare now with most of the furniture sold or donated and the majority of his possessions boxed up or already gone. It doesn't help the loneliness he's feeling though Yugi had been over almost every night after his classes and invited Ryou over on the nights he didn't come. Ryou reaches over and picks up a little stuffed lion he'd impulsively bought, holding it above his face.

" _Asadi_ , how is everything going to work out? Will you come to Cairo? Would you want to? Can we leave Marik and Bakura behind?" He pets the synthetic mane, mouth twisting at the unresponsive bead eyes. "I hope I haven't made a huge mistake."

 

* * *

_**From: Ishtar, Marik** _

_**To: Bakura, Ryou** _

_Did Ishizu tell you she got me a job?! The apartment has three bedrooms and I have a job and I'm going to be able to get out of the tomb and_

_He's crying again. He's been doing that since Ishizu told him. Did you know? You'd think he'd just gotten outta jail. Guess he kinda has, for him. Looks like we're gonna be getting our shit outta the tomb too. Gonna be harder to hide a few things now but we got it covered._

_You just get your ass to Cairo. We'll see you there._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "Set Fire to the Third Bar" by Snow Patrol.


	19. Chapter 19

Two weeks later, Ryou exits the Cairo airport, a bookbag over his shoulder and a suitcase at his feet. He's nothing but nervous energy and jetlag and a lingering gross feeling from the long flight. The heat of the day hits him and while he's thankful he thought to pull his white hair back into a low ponytail, he instantly regrets the jeans he's wearing. His white tee clings to his skin and he desperately wants to be in clean clothes. His eyes scan the line of taxis and cars waiting to pick up other travelers. Marik said he and Bakura would meet him, but he doesn't know what vehicle they'd be in. A motorcycle idles across the roadway and Ryou's eyes are drawn to it. It's not Marik's bike though and he forces himself to look away, cheeks bright as the biker's helmet turns to him.

A horn beeps and makes Ryou jump. "Hey! Ryou! Earth to Ryou!" Marik sits behind the wheel of an old Volkswagen, Bakura exiting the passenger side and beckoning Ryou over. Ryou breaks into a huge smile and rushes over to them, impulsively hugging Bakura tightly.

"Kura! Oh my god, I missed you!" Ryou goes to kiss Bakura's cheek, but he dodges it.

"You're not in Domino anymore," he whispers. Bakura squeezes Ryou's waist quickly and lets him go, bending to pick up his suitcase. "And I missed you too."

Marik leans against the car. "He did nothing but mope without you." He smirks and reaches for Ryou. "Where's my hug?" Ryou throws his arms around Marik's neck whose arms come around his waist. "It feels like a lifetime since you were here. So much has happened."

Bakura grumbles about the weight of Ryou's suitcase and reaches for his bookbag next. "You have to tell me everything," Ryou says, fingers brushing over Marik's hair. "Your hair's gotten longer." He bites his lip, pulling back reluctantly. "Where's...? Not that I'm not thrilled to see you, of course!"

The other two exchange a look, chuckling. Marik tips his head toward the motorcycle. "We'll take your stuff to the apartment." Ryou blinks between them in confusion and then at the biker he had noticed before.  
  
Bakura thrusts a helmet at Ryou. "Go on. We'll see you at the flat."

He takes the helmet, realization dawning on him. " _Asadi_?" They both nod, Marik pushing on Ryou's lower back to encourage him to go before he and Bakura get back into the car, waving as they pull away. Ryou has been looking forward to seeing Ishtar so much that he's overwhelmed, feet like lead as he carefully crosses the road. He tries not to cry, hand extended for his lover. "Ishtar?" The other man only responds by squeezing his hand and then drawing away to tap the helmet. Ryou tugs it on and climbs up behind him, palms caressing down his back before settling on his hips, fingers tightening twice to signal he's ready.

Ishtar revs the engine once and merges into the traffic, driving carefully as they work their way away from the airport and across the city. As the roads open, Ishtar accelerates faster, Ryou clinging to his hips, their bodies moving fluidly together on the motorcycle. They don't stop until they cross the river, Ishtar parking the bike off the road near a hidden area along the river bank. He pulls off his helmet, shaking his spiky hair free, as Ryou does the same and slips off the bike.  
  
Without a word yet, Ishtar takes Ryou's hand, drawing him farther away from the road until only the heat of the city reminds them that they're still in civilization. Certain that they're hidden, Ishtar stops and turns to Ryou, cupping his cheek with his free hand. He tips Ryou's face up, bending his head down and brushing a soft kiss over his lips. The sweetness makes Ryou whimper and Ishtar obliges his unspoken request, deepening the kiss, their tongues sliding together, remembering how they each taste. Ryou's fingers tangle in Ishtar's hair, pulling, Ishtar's hands on his waist almost hard enough to bruise. They both pull away gasping, eyes dark and wearing stupid happy grins on their faces.

" _Asadi_..."

Ishtar's arms wrap around him, clinging to each other. "Welcome home, _fa’r_."

 

* * *

"What's he got in this stuff?!" Bakura tosses the suitcase down on one of the beds. "Did he bring dead bodies with him? He brought dead bodies with him, didn't he?"

Marik fusses and pushes Bakura out of the way. "The only dead body in here is yours. Now move so I can put sheets on the bed. And get this off here!" Bakura grunts but he moves the suitcase to the floor out of the way, leaning back against the wall. Two of the three bedrooms were almost the same size, with one having a slightly better view. Marik had of course claimed that one for himself and Bakura. There'd been no hesitation when he proclaimed it as their room and Bakura certainly wasn't going to object. That left the other room for Ryou and Ishtar and while the three of them had gotten the room mostly set up, Marik insisted on a few finishing touches so it would look homey for Ryou.

"When did you get to be such a little homemaker?"

Marik flips his fringe out of his face, stretching over the mattress to fix the fitted sheet. Bakura doesn't miss the way his ass lifts or how his hair contrasts with the black cotton sheets he'd bought them. "Since I left the tomb the first time and didn't want people in my personal space." He shakes out the flat sheet, smoothing it over the bed. "Only Odion and Ishizu were allowed in my apartment. And you would have been, if you'd come." He cuts his lavender eyes over to Bakura. "My penthouse makes this place look like a broom closet."

He straightens, Bakura there to hand him the bedspread. "I'm here now." His free hand brushes over Marik's cheek. "You wouldn't have been able to keep me last time. Now, we're roommates."

"Only roommates?" A blond brow arches as he takes the covering, flicking it in his wrist. "If that's so, you can sleep in the other bedroom."

"Marik," Bakura growls, closing the distance between them, only the bedspread blocking their bodies. "I've got half a mind to break in Ryou's bed for him. You know damn well we're more than just roomies."

Marik's cheeks heat to a deep coral before he pushes Bakura back some. "Our first time is not going to be in someone else's bed. Go on. Make yourself useful. Light that incense over there for me." Bakura chuckles but does as he's told, Marik watching his ass as he walks out of the room to fetch the lighter. He's just about got the bedspread on when Bakura gets the incense lit and they both freeze at the sound of the door. "Fuck!" Marik quickly finishes adjusting the cover, tossing the pillows on. "Bakura, how does it look?"

Bakura takes Marik's fidgety hands, kissing his cheek. "Ryou will love it." He drags him out of the bedroom toward the front door, their bare feet quiet on the rugs.

Ryou stands by the door, cheeks flushed from the ride, staring in amazement at the living area of the flat. The curtains are open wide and the sunlight that spills in almost hurts his eyes. Ishtar takes their helmets, kissing Ryou's head as he walks by, setting them down on the kitchen table. Marik and Bakura wait, backlit by the windows, hands still clasped together.

"I know the living room is a little small and it's just a galley kitchen, but..." Marik frowns and shrugs, feeling very much like he needs Ryou to approve their new living conditions.

Ishtar steps behind Ryou, resting his arm around his waist. "Let's give you the tour." The kitchen near the door looks almost unused but there's a small table with four chairs around it. The living room is equipped with a large screen TV at Bakura's insistence and a sofa that should just fit the four of them. Down the hall, Marik shows him their bathroom and Bakura makes a comment about getting in before Marik in the morning. It earns him a poke to the ribs as they show Ryou their bedroom, deep purple silk bedspread covering matching cotton sheets. Ishtar takes his hands and pulls him to their room, the incense scenting the air and the new black bedding warm in the afternoon sun.

Marik starts to fidget again until Bakura wraps his arms around him from behind. "Do you like it?"

"How..." Ryou sits on the bed, looking up at all of them. "How did you afford all this?" Ishtar kneels behind him, stroking his hair. "I know this couldn't have been cheap."

Bakura grins sharply from over Marik's shoulder. "Their old man wasn't the only corpse buried with gold." Marik makes a small noise of protest, earning a kiss to his ear. "And we sold a lot of the camp shit. Traded in Marik's bike. That sort of thing."

Marik nods. "I'm not taking classes so I don't have to pay tuition. Ishizu loaned me some money and the car. I'm going to pay her back." He shifts on his feet, not used to the idea of owing a financial debt yet. "...do you like it?"

Ryou reaches for Marik's hand, pulling him, and by default Bakura, closer. He tips his head back against Ishtar, threading his fingers with Marik's, his other hand resting on Bakura's arm. "I love it. It's our home." He smiles softly, physically connected to all three of them. "Thank you."

They stay joined like that for several minutes, reveling in being together again, until Ishtar speaks up. "This is lovely, but get your asses out of here so I can welcome Ryou home properly." Bakura chuckles against Marik's shoulder. Marik merely rolls his eyes, leaning down to kiss Ryou tenderly. Bakura follows him, nipping at Ryou's lip before pulling away, tugging Marik out of the room and closing the door. "Finally." Ishtar growls, twisting his upper body around Ryou and catching his mouth in a firm kiss.

The Brit makes a little noise, pushing against his shoulders. "Wait! Wait, I have something for you." He scurries out of his grasp, diving for his bookbag on the floor. "It's just a little something but I couldn't resist it." He digs through the bag, pulling out the little stuffed lion and clasping it to his chest. "A lion for my lion." Ryou stands at the edge of the bed and holds it out for Ishtar. "I've slept with it every night since I got it."

Ishtar smiles and takes the toy, holding it to his nose. "It smells like you." He sets it down on the nightstand, hands sliding up the back of Ryou's thighs to cup his ass. "I have you now. I don't need a toy." He tugs him between his knees, leaning in to nose at his stomach.

Ryou squirms under the attention. "I'm sure I need a shower. I'm all gross from traveling." Ishtar's grip on his ass goes tighter. " _Asadi..._ "

"I don't care." He pushes Ryou's shirt up to reveal his stomach, licking over the skin. "It's been over a month. I need you, _fa’r_." His eyes are almost amethyst as he looks up at Ryou who pets over his blonde hair before pulling his shirt over his head, a few strands of white hair escaping his ponytail to frame his face and shoulders. Ishtar's dark hands slide down his pale chest and stomach, fingers tracing under the waistband of his jeans, opening them slowly. Ryou hooks his fingers into the fabric and his underwear to push them from his hips, stepping out of them and his shoes, leaving him bare before his lover.

The other man places wet kisses over his stomach, mouth trailing down his body, breathing hotly over Ryou's cock which twitches in response. He's not hard yet but he knows Ishtar will quickly change that, biting his lip as long fingers fondle his shaft and balls. His pale fingers thread through his honey gold hair, relaxing into his touch. "I thought about you so many nights while I was away."

A smirk graces Ishtar's face as he tilts his head back. "You mean the nights you weren't thinking of _nafsi_ or the _djinni_?" It's only gently teasing and his smirk morphs into a grin as Ryou turns pink. "I don't blame you for thinking of them. They are delightful."

Ryou gasps, catching Ishtar's chin. "Did you play with them while I was gone?" The other man only grins wider. "...damn. I wish I had seen that." Ishtar hums against Ryou's skin, nipping gently as he continues stroking his cock into full hardness. "Did you, ah..."

"I haven't fucked them, no." He dips his head down, tongue wet along Ryou's shaft, making his breath hitch. "Would you want me to?"

"I-if I could w-watch..." Ryou's fingers tug at Ishtar's hair, head tipped back as he sucks at the tip of his erection. "Oh god..."

"I've barely started and you're already praying." Ishtar reaches into the nightstand and grabs a bottle of lube, setting it next to his hip as he returns to sucking on Ryou's length. Ryou arches into the connection, hips pushing into Ishtar's face without thinking. He clings to his hair as Ishtar licks and sucks at his dick, flicking the slit with his tongue.

It's been too long for Ryou and each lick brings him closer to the edge. "S-slow. Slow down-nnn..." He groans, precum collecting at his tip, Ishtar catching it on his tongue. Ryou's dark eyes drop to the lube. "If you don't prep me, I will."

"Tempting," Ishtar answer, grabbing the bottle and popping it open, the clear sticky fluid pouring over his fingers. "But not now." Ryou spreads his legs, propping one knee on the bed, holding onto his shoulders. The lube is cold against his sensitive skin, biting his lip so he doesn't cry at the initial touch. "Don't hold back. Those two won't care."

 

* * *

Marik dozes on Bakura's shoulder as he plays a video game. It's something they've done almost every night since they moved in, Bakura sucked into a game while Marik reads or, more truthfully, falls asleep next to him. Marik's blonde lashes flutter open, a noise drawing him out of his light sleep. "Hm?" He notices Bakura's shoulder under his cheek isn't moving like normal, tense under his shirt. "Did you die again?"

Bakura's head drops forward, staring blankly at his controller. "No, it's-" From down the hall, they both hear the noise again, Ryou's pleased whimpering audible over the background music of the game. Marik lifts his head, blinking as he processes what he's hearing. Ishtar's chuckle answers the softer noise. Bakura toys with the controller. "Walls aren't soundproof."

"Oh." Ryou whines louder and the color on Marik's and Bakura's cheeks turns pink. Marik sits up, eyes locked on the darkened hallway. "It wouldn't really be fair of us to tell them to be quiet." Bakura shakes his head, fiddling with the controller. Marik's eyes slide over to him. He tucks an errant strand of white hair behind Bakura's ear.

"I could turn the volume up," he offers.

"Or..." Marik removes the controller from Bakura's hands, setting it on the floor. He pushes on his shoulders and slings a leg over Bakura's lap, straddling him, lavender eyes bright as he looks down on him. Bakura settles back against the cushions, hands sliding up Marik's thighs to his hips. "Or we could make our own noise." He dips his head down, catching Bakura's mouth with his own, light at first, a soft sigh from the man under him encouraging him to deepen the kiss.

Pale fingers find their way under Marik's tank top, cool against his warm skin. He drags his tongue over Marik's lower lip and parts his, teasing Marik to go even farther. They both groan as their tongues touch, alternating licking into each other's mouths until Bakura catches Marik's tongue, sucking on it. Marik moans freely, rocking his hips against Bakura's. His khakis don't have much give with his legs spread and it's almost uncomfortable as he hardens as they kiss.

Bakura's denim is even worse and he curses himself for following Ryou's style of wearing skinny jeans. At the next roll of Marik's hips, he lifts his, their shafts and the friction of their clothes between them making them break the kiss to breathe heavily. They stare at each other a moment before ripping at their pants, their cheeks flushed, fingers pulling each other's members free. Bakura's head presses back into the cushions, eyes closing, but Marik stares at them, at the contrast in their skin, at the novelty of not being pressed against a tomb wall when Bakura takes him in hand. He strokes Bakura and moves his hips forward, wrapping his thumb around himself to keep their dicks together.

"Fuck..." Bakura growls the word, mirroring the motion with his hand, the other cupping the back of Marik's neck. Marik answers by mashing their lips together, an excited cry from Ryou echoing from the hall. They both shudder at the sound. Bakura smooths his palm over their leaking tips, the precum lubricating the motion of his hand, letting them slide together better. The sounds of Ishtar and Ryou’s bed creaking are only drowned out by the way Ishtar cusses, the headboard banging into the wall. Bakura whines, breaking the kiss as his head falls back, bucking into their hands.

Marik gives him a strange look, his own hand slowing. "Are you wishing you were in Ishtar's position? Or Ryou's?"

The other man groans. "Why?! Why do you want to talk now?! Fucking hell, Marik." Marik squeezes their lengths, causing Bakura to whimper. "Ryou's! Okay?" He opens his eyes, mahogany eyes dark and the look he gives Marik sharp. Marik hums, filing that away, jacking them once more. Ryou cries out his nickname for Ishtar and Bakura flinches, on edge. He grabs Marik and twists, laying Marik down on his back on the sofa, staying between his knees, rolling their bodies together. "Marik..."

The Egyptian groans, almost as loud as Ryou's shout, fingers digging into Bakura's ass. "Come on, come on, come on." His muscles tense, almost there and wanting Bakura to orgasm first. Bakura braces his hand on the cushions, moving faster, neither realizing the noise from down the hall has stopped. Bakura's hair curtains their faces, their hearts racing and Bakura feels his balls tighten, breath leaving him as he cums over Marik. The jism smears over Marik's length and he gasps at the almost frictionless movement, shaking and yelling an invocation to Ra as he orgasms, adding to Bakura's mess.

"You better not have gotten the sofa dirty." Their heads whip to the side to find Ryou standing there, the black bedsheet wrapped around him like a robe. Behind him, Ishtar remains completely naked, only wearing a sardonic grin. The two men on the couch flush scarlet, unable to move.

Bakura recovers first, wishing he had something to throw. "Get out of here! We didn't bother you!" Ishtar only laughs. "Go away!"

"Come, _fa’r_. When Marik realizes Bakura got his shirt filthy, he won't be happy." Ryou giggles, following him to the bathroom, their original destination before they'd caught the other two.

Marik blinks, lowering his eyes to his tank. "Wha- OH! Oh fuck! Gross! Oh my gods, so fucking gross. Get off me, get off!" Bakura huffs, forcing himself to sit up, kneeling on the sofa. "Oh gods, it's ruined!"

"I'll wash it. Calm down." Bakura makes a note to get retribution on Ishtar for breaking the moment. "Let me get it off you." He carefully rolls it up from the hem so it doesn't drip on Marik's face. Though he does think Marik would look really good with cum on his face. The tank comes off easily, Marik's arms stretching up so Bakura can tug it off the rest of the way. "There now. I'll wash it and it'll be fine."

Freed from the filthy shirt, Marik recovers and smirks up at Bakura, tossing his earlier words back to him. "When did you get to be such a little homemaker?" Bakura narrows his eyes and drops the sticky shirt right on Marik's stomach, pushing himself off the sofa. He chuckles as he walks to their room, the sound of Marik's fussing louder than any noise they'd just made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, SerenityXStar, for beta-reading for me!
> 
> Chapter title from "I'll Cover You" from the RENT soundtrack.


	20. Chapter 20

"When are we going to tell _ukht_ about me?" Ishtar, clad only in his favorite loose pants, sips his coffee and leans back against the kitchen counter, watching as boxer-wearing Marik fusses around to make his own breakfast. Bakura is still asleep while Ryou has left for his classes, effectively giving the two near-twins alone time. Ishtar pours a cup of coffee for Marik, pushing it and the almond milk to him.

"Thanks," he murmurs. They've been dodging Ishizu wanting to visit, avoiding telling her that Ishtar was back and in his own body. Marik knows this conversation is well overdue. Bakura and Ishtar have been back for months. It's only been Marik's fear of their sister's reaction that kept Ishtar's existence a secret. "I don't know." He doesn't look up from stirring the coffee as his oatmeal warms up. "She's going to hate that I didn't tell her almost as much as she'll hate that you're back."

The former alterego winces. He knows that when he had control of Marik's body before, he did evil things. He murdered their father. None of them have any reason to trust their safety around him because he knows that part of him is still under the surface. Yet Ryou calms him. Ryou lets him express his need for violence, for blood, in more creative and pleasurable ways. Marik soothes him as well, the mirror of what he should be if life hadn't twisted them both. Neither were irreparable though and Ishtar clung to that, to them, when he wanted to scream and rage and put others into as much pain as he himself felt. "Do you think she'll hate me?"

"I don't know," he replies. Marik doesn't want to have this conversation, not before coffee, not ever. Coping is still not a skill he's especially good at yet. "It's unfair to ask you to stay hidden anymore." 

Ishtar runs his fingers through his messy spikes. "I spent years in the shadows. I'm tired of it, _nafsi_. I can't change what I did and I'm not sorry for it, but I don't want her to hate me. She's family." He frowns into his coffee mug as Marik hops onto the counter. "You know Ryou doesn't want you sitting up there."

"He's not home," he points out, biting into his toast. "What about Odion? You never mention him."

The other man shrugs. "Nor do you." Marik actually looks ashamed at that, staring at his toast. He hadn't spoken to Odion since he officially gave up running the Rare Hunters. He pushed Odion away for what he believed was Odion's benefit but he still missed the man he considered a big brother. Ishizu would tell him how Odion was if there was any news and he assumes Ishizu told Odion about his life. Marik wrinkles his nose in realization that it meant Odion probably knew about Bakura. " _Nafsi_?"

Marik shakes his head. "We need to tell Ishizu. I'm sorry I've been delaying it." Ishtar rinses out his coffee mug and starts cleaning up the kitchen for Marik. "I haven't spoken to Odion in almost two years. Not since Amir's first birthday." Ishtar only arches a brow, letting him know he's listening as he washes up. "He never stopped calling me master and I... I couldn't handle it anymore. I got out of that life and every damn time he said that, it reminded me of how I'd been. Odion's our brother, not my servant. I wanted him to live his own life, without worrying about me. So I told him to leave and he did."

Drying his hands on a towel, Ishtar props his hip against the counter. "Do you really think he doesn't worry about you just because he's not around? Do you stop worrying about Amir when you haven't seen him in awhile?"

"No, I suppose not." Marik hops down from the counter, washing his last plate. "It's complicated but if you're ready to see Ishizu, I'll make it happen. Somehow."

Ishtar hands him the towel, noting the tension in Marik's neck and shoulders. "You carry so many worries on you, don't you?" He reaches over to tenderly brush Marik's hair back from his face. "It's hard, isn't it, to try to hold our families together? Our family by blood and the family we've made here." Marik leans into the touch, closing his eyes and humming in agreement. "You have to provide for us, take care of us, and you need someone to give you some relief." Ishtar's lips brush over Marik's exposed ear, curling his arm around Marik's lower back. "I could do that. Let me take care of you."

Marik shiver, goosebumps breaking out down his neck. "Bakura takes care of me." All the same, he reaches for Ishtar, his fingers falling lightly over his waist, head tipped to the other. He closes his eyes as Ishtar licks the shell of his ear. His body feels warm with Ishtar's chest pressed against his side, his face heating as Ishtar's tongue moves down his neck. Marik's fingers tense on his waist, voice breaking. "Isn't this wrong? Us? You were me."

"I shared your body," Ishtar clarifies. "But I don't anymore." His lips slip over Marik's skin. "I was never fully you. I was... I was a shadow, an entity, called forth by your pain. I was your pain." His fingers massage Marik's back, avoiding his scars for now. "We were never the same person."

The Egyptian's head lifts, offering his neck, lids heavy as he looks at him. "You're still almost my twin."

"Not by blood." He reconsiders his words, shrugging. "Not from our parents. Besides," he purrs against Marik's skin. "Are you trying to deny that you don't find yourself hot?" He nips at him, fingers tracing over the scars he knows so well. Marik arches away from the touch, the meticulously done marks folding as he draws his shoulder blades together.

"Ishtar..."

The other man hums, lifting his violet eyes. "Do they still bother you?" Marik lowers his eyes and nods. Ishtar's grip on his waist tightens, guiding Marik across the kitchen to lean back against the refrigerator, pressing against him to pin him there.

He gasps, trying to arch away. "It's cold!" His nipples harden and he stares at Ishtar with wide eyes. Ishtar places his palm over Marik's chest, keeping his bare back against the appliance. He doesn't move and doesn't speak until Marik stops squirming, shivering as the cold sinks into his skin. "You're going to make my back numb."

"Good." Marik makes a soft noise of realization as Ishtar's hands stroke over his skin, thumbs brushing over his nipples. Marik whimpers, nipples almost painfully tight. His hands rest on Ishtar's wrists though he doesn't try to stop him. Ishtar closes the distance between them, lips rough against Marik's and Marik whimpers again, releasing his wrists and grabbing his shoulders. His legs part, letting Ishtar fit between his thighs, the contrast between the heat on his chest and the cold at his back making him shudder. Marik opens his mouth as Ishtar nips at his lips, Ishtar's tongue delving in to taste him.

It's strange to him, the places where they are similar and the places where they differ. Marik can taste the coffee on Ishtar's tongue but otherwise there's no noticeable difference in how their tongues slide together. Marik's skin is softer than Ishtar's and Ishtar's hand feels rough over his body. Ishtar groans against his mouth as Marik digs his fingers into his shoulders, something Marik would never allow done to himself. Yet when the bulge in Ishtar's sleep pants fits against the one in Marik's boxers, they both pull away with the same sharp gasp.

"We shouldn't... Not in here," Marik pants, nails dragging down Ishtar's arms.

Ishtar smirks and rubs his thumbs up the V of Marik's hips. "That's exactly why we should. Watching Ryou punish you will be fun." His fingers hook into the waistband of Marik's boxers, waiting for consent.

The other blonde bites his lip, hesitating a moment. "He'll punish you too." Ishtar smirks slightly, clearly looking forward to the idea. With that, Marik nods. "Bakura's asleep. We have to be quiet." Ishtar scoffs, ripping his boxers down. Marik squeaks at the sudden loss, kicking them off his feet while Ishtar drops his sleep pants, pressing their naked bodies together. They groan in unison. Marik slides his fingers into Ishtar's hair as their mouths meet again, their kisses rough and messy, Ishtar fisting their cocks.

Marik pushes on his shoulders, trying to get Ishtar to his knees, but Ishtar thwarts him, wrapping his other arm around Marik's waist and pulling him down to the kitchen floor with him. Marik squirms, cheeks flushed with the smooth slide of Ishtar's palm over their shafts. Ishtar leans back and brings Marik down to the floor with him, Marik's legs spread over Ishtar's hips, hands braced on the floor by his shoulders. Marik's face burns even more with the positioning but his hips roll forward, bucking into Ishtar's hand.

His near-twin's spiky hair spreads out over the tiles as he watches Marik above him with darkened, half lidded eyes. He palms their tips, slicking his hand with their precum to making the movement of his hand smoother. Marik lowers his head, lips hovering over Ishtar's. "Am I vain for wanting you?" Marik's eyes flick from Ishtar's mouth to his eyes, waiting for an answer.

"No more than Ryou and Bakura," he answers, tongue brushing Marik's lips as he licks his own. The response is enough for Marik who follows that tongue, crashing their mouths together again. It's hungry and desperate and Marik's doubts fall away as his needs scream louder, thrusting into Ishtar's hand. Ishtar squeezes and Marik rips away from the kiss, silencing himself with a vicious bite to his lower lip. Ishtar repeats the motion, thumb of his free hand freeing Marik's lip and wiping the blood away, pupils eating up the violet of his irises. "Turn around."

Marik's whines shamelessly loud as Ishtar releases their dicks. "Wha-... why?" He shakes his head, hair flying around his face, rolling his hips insistently. "No, come on... Come onnnnn."

Ishtar catches Marik's face, hands more gentle than Marik would have ever thought and in that moment, Marik understands why Bakura submits to Ishtar. His body stills, lavender eyes caught in violet ones, heart stuttering in his chest. "Turn around so I can suck your dick, _nafsi_." The name coupled with the words sends a rush of warmth through Marik, desire and need making him lightheaded. Marik nods and repositions himself over Ishtar, hands on the floor by his hips now, ass lifted. Ishtar's hands guide his hips back and down until Marik shudders at the feel of his tip dragging over his lips.

He should have expected the tongue. He really should have. Yet that first swipe from his head, down his shaft and over his balls leaves him trembling, head hanging forward on his shoulders. "Ssssshit..." Marik hisses, arching back for more. Ishtar holds his hips still as he licks at Marik, making his dick slick and wet, humming at the precum dripping onto his mouth. Marik drops to his elbows, hair brushing over his hips, blinking unfocused eyes open. "...oh," he sighs, breath ghosting over Ishtar's hot shaft. It twitches in reaction and Marik finds himself drawn to affectionately nuzzle at his length.

With a groan that vibrates along Marik's inner thighs, Ishtar uses his tongue to guide him into his mouth, lips wrapping around his head. Marik's eyes roll back, lips parted against Ishtar's dick, placing wet, open-mouthed kisses over his heated skin. It's more tender than Ishtar would have expected and he finds himself moving slower than normally. He loves licking but while he would already be sucking hard at Ryou, he continues to rely on his tongue, dipping into his slit and laving around the head. When Marik's trail of kisses finally leads mouthing over his head, Ishtar's hips lift, searching for more.

Marik closes his eyes, lashes casting soft shadows over his cheeks, as he toys with the sensation of his cock on his lips and tongue. There's a flash of thought to wonder if they taste the same, quickly dismissed with the knowledge that Bakura and Ryou would know. Marik parts his lips, holding Ishtar's cockhead on his lower lip and prodding at his opening. He sighs when Ishtar sucks at him in earnest, finally taking in more of his length, Marik not hesitating to return the favor. He's not careful with his teeth, dragging them over the underside of his shaft, Ishtar giving a choked noise in response and raising his head to swallow Marik deeper. Ishtar's hands massage Marik's ass and hips, fingers spreading over his lower back and slipping to his thighs. Marik and Ishtar both roll their hips in unison, Marik's mouth sliding lower on Ishtar's cock as his own dick pushes deeper into Ishtar's mouth.

They hum, both too into the moment to realize how they've fallen in sync. Marik's cheeks hollow as he bobs his head smoothly and rocks into Ishtar's mouth. Ishtar's fingers trace the line between Marik's balls and the caress earns him a needy sigh. Marik props himself on one elbow and frees his hand to cup Ishtar's balls. He's not thinking much when he mimics the touch, instincts guiding him to do exactly what he himself likes.

The attention to their testicles leaves them whiny messes, movements becoming jerky, both breathing heavily through their noses. Their hips lift and fall with the slide of their lips, heat coiling low and heavy in their pelvises. They groan, the vibration shooting through their cocks, triggering the release of that warmth, muscles trembling as they unload into each other's mouths. They pull off to swallow, faces flushed and limbs loose. Ishtar feels the vibrations of the floor from his position on his back, tilting his chin up to look at the door. Marik is still ass up, wiping off his mouth with the back of his hand, unaware of Ishtar's diverted attention.

"I only wanted some sodding coffee."

Marik jumps while Ishtar only chuckles at Bakura's grumbling complaint above them. He steps around them to get to the coffee pot. Marik tosses his hair back and stares up at him with his mouth open. "Bakura, I..." Ishtar lounges on the floor, completely unashamed that they were caught or that they're naked.

Bakura pours his coffee into his mug, turning to lean back against the counter, facing them as he takes a sip. A smirk teases the corner of his mouth. "Ryou's going to kill you for defiling his pristine kitchen. I can't wait to watch."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ukht = sister
> 
> Chapter title from Duran Duran's "Come Undone".


	21. Chapter 21

Both blondes kneel naked on the floor, Marik shifting anxiously. Ishtar unmoving as they wait for Ryou to join them. Their punishment for sixty-nining in the kitchen began earlier that evening after Ryou returned home from his classes. Bakura had ratted Ishtar and Marik out via text message, giving Ryou the afternoon to plot. The blondes had scrubbed the kitchen before Ryou would cook dinner and then cleaned it again after they'd finished eating while Ryou took a shower. Ishtar had complied easily though Marik complained enough for both of them. Once Ryou judged the kitchen to be flawless once more, he told them both to undress and kneel in his bedroom. Again, Marik whined until Ishtar, already naked, put his hand over Marik's mouth and quickly stripped him.

Bakura makes himself comfortable on the floor in the hallway, clad in a pair of pajama pants he'd stolen from Ryou. "I wish I could take a picture of you two right now." Ryou had agreed to let him watch, provided he would behave. No one, not even Bakura, thought he would manage that but he intended to try.

"Shut up, Bakura." Marik glares at Bakura and then at Ishtar who bumps into his shoulder.

"Calm, _nafsi_." He tips his head to whisper in Marik's ear. "It will be worse for him when he can only watch and not touch." Ishtar's words make Marik smirk, both sets of purple eyes turning to Bakura. He frowns and pulls a face, suspecting that those whispers concerned him.

Before he can speak, Ryou passes him and pats his head. All three of them stare agog at Ryou as he enters the bedroom. His white hair hangs in damp strands down his bare back, his pale skin still flushed from his hot shower. It's a pretty sight but one they've all seen before, definitely not enough to bring them all to stunned silence. No, what steals their words are the low slung leather pants clinging to Ryou's hips, ass, and legs. He doesn't bother with shoes, his footsteps quiet in a way that would make a thief proud.

"I will be addressed as ‘sir’ until the scene is over. And Bakura?" The former spirit swallows thickly, forcing himself to lift his eyes from Ryou's ass to look up at him. "You are not to speak." Marik and Ishtar chuckle at Bakura's plight, shushing when Ryou turns back to them. "Do you two know why you're being punished?"

"We messed around in the kitchen," Marik offers. Ryou waits, chocolate eyes staring into lavender until Marik remembers. "Sir. We messed around in the kitchen, sir."

"And?" Ryou arches a brow at Ishtar.

"You weren't home to join us, sir." Ishtar has no trouble remembering to include the nomenclature, having been through this many times since their time in the tomb.

Ryou’s hands pet gently over their heads. Ishtar leans into the touch while Marik flicks his eyes around Ryou’s legs to Bakura and back up to Ryou. “Correct. It isn’t that I have to be here for all your playtime, but I would rather not find out via a text.” At that, he looks over his shoulder to Bakura, the near twins focusing on him as well. Bakura squirms against the wall, suddenly filled with the sinking realization that he’s being punished as well. He bites down on his lip to keep his retort to himself. Ryou nods in approval and returns his attention to the two at his feet.

Marik’s eyes dart away. He’s never been submissive by nature and this doesn’t come naturally to him. He wrinkles his nose, fingers stretching and flexing. They’re not restrained and he’s certain he could end the scene without any more serious repercussions than disappointing Ryou and that is enough to keep him on his knees. Ryou, attuned to his partners’ body language as the scene lead, crouches in front of Marik, leather stretching tighter over his thighs. “Hey, are you doing okay?” Marik drags his eyes to Ryou’s and nods once. “I’m not going to do anything you won’t enjoy.” Marik’s eyes bounce back and forth between Ryou’s. His warm brown eyes calm Marik and he leans in, taking a soft kiss before settling back on his heels with his hands on his thighs. Ishtar mimics the movement as Ryou stands. “Good. And speaking of things you enjoy, you seemed to enjoy sucking cock. Am I wrong?”

“No, sir,” they answer in unison. In the hall, Bakura shifts into a new position. It’s not that he minds staring at Ryou’s ass, but he would like to see Marik and Ishtar too.

“Then suck my cock.” Ryou’s voice is soft like velvet with his order and Ishtar immediately reaches to undo the pants. Ishtar looks expectantly at Marik who moves closer and helps tug the zipper down. Together, they push the leathers lower on his hips, fingers brushing over Ryou’s semi-hardened shaft and his balls. The Brit shudders as they stroke him, Marik tipping his head closer to kiss at his hip.

Bakura grumbles under his breath. “I can’t fucking see.”

Ryou’s head tips back as Ishtar bites lightly at his waist. “F-first warning, ‘Kura.” The former Ring spirit hushes. Marik’s fingers cradle Ryou’s balls while Ishtar circles his fingers around his shaft, stroking him slowly until he’s fully erect. His tongue sneaks out, holding Ryou’s dick still as he licks over the length. Ishtar leans back, eyes on Marik. The other man replaces his double at Ryou’s cock, kissing the tip. Ryou's pale fingers stroke through their blonde hair, cock twitching in response. "Go on."

Ishtar sits back on his heels as Marik's lips part, sucking lightly at the tip. Ryou's tongue peeks over his lip, licking and drawing it between his teeth, eyes dark as he watches Marik working his dick. His head bobs, stopping before he can reach the base. Ryou tugs on Ishtar's hair, guiding him up and to his cock. "Share." Marik pops off, pouting but ceding the position to Ishtar. Ishtar's wet tongue swirls around Ryou's head and down his shaft until he's shiny with spit. He sucks at the underside of his head before swallowing him. Ryou hisses and his fingers tightening in their hair.

From the hall, Bakura whines Marik's name and tries to get his attention. His stolen pajama pants stretch over his erection and he presses the heel of his palm against his length. "Second war- Oh god, _asadi_ -warning." Ryou shudders and pants out the reprimand.

Marik's eyes only barely cut to Bakura before returning to Ryou. He pushes at Ishtar's arm, getting him to move. "Sir? It's my turn, isn't it?" Ishtar growls, the noise vibrating around Ryou's cock, drawing a soft gasp from him. Marik rubs his cheek against Ryou's leather-clad thigh. "Please?" His heavy lidded eyes meet Bakura's again and Bakura realizes Marik, at least, wants him to watch.

Ryou's fingers yank on Ishtar's hair, lifting his head off his dick. "You have to share too." The Brit groans as they shift, two blonde heads bent over his cock. Ishtar uses his tongue more, licking over his shaft, while Marik's lips suck over his heated skin, sliding from the base to tip. "Bloo-dy he-ell." Ryou's head falls back, white hair almost to his waistband, hips rocking forward. Marik's mouth wraps around his head, leaving the shaft for Ishtar's tongue. Precum drips onto Marik's tongue and he has to grab his own cock, the pressure giving him a fraction of relief.

"Fuck," Bakura moans, pulling down the pajama pants and stroking himself.

"Last warnin- Nnnnn," Ryou's reprimand breaks off when Marik sucks hard at his head and Ishtar carefully drags his teeth over his skin. "Ssshit." Ishtar turns his head to bite at Ryou's hip, letting Marik suck his whole length into his mouth, cheeks hollowing as he lifts and lowers his head. "Oh, oh god..." Ryou's hands fist in their hair, bucking into Marik's mouth while Ishtar bites him.

Bakura curses under his breath, sprawling with his back propped against the wall. His cheeks are flushed and he's shamelessly jacking himself as he watches them. "Gods..." Bakura tenses, unsure if Ryou heard him.

Ryou's nails scratch over Ishtar's scalp to get his attention. Amethyst dark eyes look up and Ryou tips his head to the door, hips never stopping. "He won't be happy, sir." Ishtar unfolds himself from the floor and strides over to the door, his own cock hard and thick. Bakura's eyes widen and he swallows hard as Ishtar smirks down at him. "Should have gagged yourself." With a quiet click, he shuts the door on Bakura.

"NO! No, fuck no! Gods damnit, Ryou! Ryou, please!" Bakura scrambles to the door, pounding on it. "Fuck you! Gods damnit." He doesn't dare open the door, falling back against it, growling. "Fuuuuuck."

"He'll live." Ryou pants, on edge. "We'll, we'll make it up to him. If he behaves." Ishtar chuckles as he settles back on his knees in front of Ryou, bumping Marik out of the way to get his mouth back on Ryou's cock. He sighs in delight at the taste, giving room for Marik to reach between them and caress Ryou's balls through the leather. Ryou's breath hitches. Ishtar blindly grabs Marik's arm, tugging him closer, as Ryou cums in Ishtar's mouth with a strangled cry, a vicious thump from the door answering him. Marik's attention is pulled from the door as Ishtar grips his jaw, bringing their mouths together and feeding Marik Ryou's cum. Marik clutches at his almost-twin's arms as he melts against him, the salty-sweet taste of Ryou and Ishtar hitting his tongue.

"God, you two." Ryou wipes himself off with his palm, zipping the leather pants back up. "Why don't you get on the bed and show me what I missed this morning?"

 

* * *

Bakura slinks off to the shower, moving the dial firmly into cold, trying to ignore the way his dick throbs and his balls ache. It doesn't help much but he gets enough relief to dry off and drag his frustrated naked ass to his bed. He drops onto the edge of the mattress, head down, towel hanging over his damp hair. It's his own fault, for ratting Ishtar and Marik out, for not keeping quiet during their scene. Though he suspects he'd still be in the same position either way as there would have been no way he would have stayed silent while jacking off in the hall. The door to Ryou's room opens and shuts, tanned feet stepping into his line of sight under the towel shortly after. Bakura doesn't lift his head so Marik folds to his knees between Bakura's feet, peeking up under the towel. 

"Are you upset with me?"

"What?" Bakura frowns as he hadn't been upset at any of them. "No, fuck no. I'm irritated at myself for not keeping quiet. And sulking because of my punishment." He reaches out, brushing the back of his knuckles over Marik's cheek. "You were gorgeous on your knees for Ryou. You're always gorgeous."

Marik, still flushed, lips still swollen from two back-to-back blowjobs, gently tugs the towel off Bakura's head and lets it fall to the floor. "And now I'm on my knees for you."

"You don't have to do anything."

"I know." The blonde smiles up at him, rubbing Bakura's thighs, opening them wider. "I want to."

 

* * *

"Ishizu!" Ryou greets her with a brilliant smile and a warm hug, scooping Amir from her arms. "Marik's in the living room." Bakura acknowledges Ishizu with a nod, holding the door for Ryou. "We'll be at the park. See you in a little bit!" Before she can object, the three of them dash out the door, leaving her alone with her little brother.

Her dark hair sways around her face as she steps into the living room. "Ryou spoils Amir and I suspect Bakura does as well." Marik stands, wiping his hands on his thighs before approaching to embrace Ishizu. " _Akh_ , what troubles you?" He takes her hand and leads her to the sofa, letting her sit before joining her. If she notices that one bedroom remains closed, has remained closed since they moved in, she doesn't comment. "Is everything well with your work and your studies?"

"Yes, I mean yeah. They get a lot of things wrong, but there's only so much I can correct." Marik runs his fingers through his hair, ruffling the pale gold strands. "Not without seeming suspicious or pissing my professors off." He can't meet her eyes.

She watches him and, for a moment, misses the Necklace that would give her some insight as to how this talk would go. "Are things amiss with Ryou and Bakura?"

"No, what?" A faint color crosses his cheeks. "No, they're fine. We're fine. It's, ah..."

Ishizu arches a brow at him. "Marik. Tell me."

Full of nervous energy, he gets to his feet, pacing the room. "When we brought Bakura back, it needed Ryou's blood, right? That was the key, that's why he came to Egypt when I called. And everything turned out okay, right?" Ishizu folds her hands in her lap, listening while he rambles. "He's good. He's been good. Not getting into trouble. I mean, he needs a job, freeloading bastard, but can't get a job, a legal job, without paperwork so..."

"Marik."

His name makes him stop, eyes wide, his pulse jumping at his throat. He sits next to her once more, taking her hands. "Bakura wasn't the only one we brought back that day."

Ishizu's breath catches. "The pharaoh?"

He shakes his head. "We didn't mean to. I didn't even realize I'd cut myself. Not until a few hours later. But he's been good, like Bakura. A little crazy at first, but no one's died." His sister's hands feel like ice in his as he rambles. "He actually helps out more around the apartment than Bakura and Ryou and he... And please don't be upset with me."

Her head turns to the hall, the door to the closed room now open wide behind a ghost come to life. Ishtar stands still, clad in the khakis and linen shirt Ryou had dressed him in. " _Salam, ukht_."

Ishizu jumps to her feet, one hand on Marik's shoulder as she steps in front of him. "You." Her fingers squeeze on Marik's shoulder, tight enough to make him wince. "The pharaoh defeated you. You don't exist outside of the Shadow Realm." Ishtar doesn't move a muscle, but Marik does, squirming out of their sister's grip. "Stay away from my brother."

" _Ukht_ , please." Marik stands beside her, taking her hands in his. "He's been back for months now and he hasn't hurt me. He hasn't hurt anyone. Not really." Ishizu's eyes slide away from Ishtar to look at Marik suspiciously. "He hasn't hurt anyone who hasn't enjoyed it." Ishizu recoils at that.

"What he means," Ishtar keeps his voice low as he sits in a chair, "is that I engage in non-vanilla sex but never with anyone who doesn't consent and who doesn't like what I do to them."

"I don't need to hear about your sex life. And you!" She pulls away from Marik, hurt and anger clear on her face. "You kept this from me. Do you understand how reckless that was? Not only that you brought him back, but that you didn't tell Odion or me. What if he had gone after us? What if he'd come after Amir?"

Marik hangs his head guiltily at that, having never considered her fear for her son. "He didn't go anywhere. Even when he got free-" Ishizu makes a distressed noise. "He didn't leave the tomb. Not until we came here. And he-"

"He killed our father, Marik! He tried many times to kill Odion. He tried to kill you. He's a murderer!"

The words fall heavy in the apartment, none of them making a sound after her outburst. Marik looks as though he might throw up and seriously considers if he should dash to the bathroom in case he does. Instead, he flops down onto the sofa, elbows on his knees, hiding his face in his hands, leaving Ishizu standing between them.

Ishtar keeps his eyes on Marik, though his words are for Ishizu. "I have a name." She turns to him fully as if she'd forgotten he could speak. "Ishtar." He shrugs. "It's not creative or original, but Bakura stole Ryou's surname and I'm more an Ishtar than he is a Bakura."

Ishizu sits down heavily beside Marik and stares at Ishtar. "You killed our father."

"He would have killed Odion if I hadn't."

"Then you tried to-"

Ishtar holds up his hand to stop her. "He calmed Marik enough to push me into the background. Odion was a threat to my existence. So was Marik, but I have my own body now. We're completely separated. I don't need to kill them because they aren't trying to kill me."

It's as logical of an explanation as Ishizu could have imagined coming from her brother's former alternate personality. "We weren't really the same person," Marik offers. "If we hadn't been surrounded by shadow magic, with those damn Items right there, Ishtar might not have manifested. But he did and now he's here with us." Marik straightens his spine and Ishizu is reminded that even if he's walked away from the responsibility, her little brother is still head of their clan. It's a role that he would have filled well if they had stayed. "Ishtar is part of our family. I would like my siblings to get along."

Her eyes go to Ishtar before returning to Marik. "Then you've told Odion." Marik drops his eyes to the floor. "You still haven't spoken to him. Marik," she sighs and tucks his hair behind his ear. "I won't tell him for you this time. You need to tell him yourself." He doesn't react to her, fiddling with his fingers. "Odion might be able to help you if you ask." Two sets of curious purple eyes look at her. "You mentioned that Bakura, and I gather Ishtar, don't have paperwork. Your brother could help with that."

"How?" Ishtar's tone is suspicious, narrowing his eyes.

A gentle, sisterly smile lights her face up. "I assure you that I don't know the details. You would need to speak to him." Ishtar snorts and she pats Marik's knee. "Shall we fix lunch? Amir will be hungry. He should meet his new uncle as well."

Marik's eyes widen and he impulsively pulls Ishizu into a hug. " _Shukran, ukht_."

She laughs and disengages, crossing to where Ishtar sits and offers her hand. "Come help me." He lifts a brow, looking from her hand to her face, considering. Finally, he nods and accepts her hand, getting to his feet and following his sister to the kitchen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> akh = brother
> 
> Chapter title from September Mourning's "Skin & Bones".


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for attempted assault, violence, blood, and smut.

Marik leaves the note with Odion's number on the counter right where Ishizu left it though he can't make himself call. Bakura threatens several times to do it for him, but a quick reprimand from Ishtar makes him behave. Soon, they are all back in the routine of classes and work and whatever the hell Bakura and Ishtar find to occupy their days. Neither Marik nor Ryou really want to ask.

Ryou begs off a ride home from Marik one night a few weeks later, explaining that he needs to stay later to speak with a professor. No one worries as Ishtar fixes their dinner, bantering with Bakura as he cooks and Marik works on a paper. None of them get concerned even after dinner is ready, Ishtar putting Ryou's in the oven to keep warm. Slowly though, as the evening wears on, they each dissolve into anxiousness.

Bakura perches on the table, eyes on the door. He knows he'll get yelled at for sitting on the table, but it has the best view of the door. He considers grabbing his knife to keep his hands busy, reconsidering when he admits to himself that he would only carve up the table. Ishtar sits on the sofa, so tense that it could hardly be called reclining. His eyes track Marik who paces from the door to the table to the living room and back. "Did you try texting him?"

"Four times, Marik." Bakura's mahogany eyes don't move from the door as he answers.

"What about calling?"

Ishtar sighs, leaning forward. "Same as when you called. Goes to voicemail."

Bakura's feet hit the ground, drawing their attention. "Fuck this shit. I'm going to find him." He grabs his boots, yanking them on, before going to his room to get his blade.

"I'll go with you," Marik says, already pulling one of his shoes on.

The former spirit's hair falls over his shoulders as he shakes his head. "No way. You're a mess. Stay here. Both of you." He hurries to the door before either can object, not that Ishtar was going to do so. "Text me if he comes home." A string of curses leave Marik's lips, kicking his shoe off and resuming his path through the apartment.

Only few minutes pass between the door closing and Bakura's text but it might as well have been another hour for Marik's nerves.

_Got him. Start tea. Home soon._

The directive to put the kettle on at least gives Marik something to do, staring at the pot while he waits for it to heat up. Ishtar doesn't move from his spot on the couch. Marik is just pouring the water into Ryou's favorite mug as the door opens, Bakura fussing with the lock one-handed. Ryou occupies his other arm, hopping into the apartment on one foot. He's filthy, his jeans torn, hair knotted and covered in dirt. His messenger bag is missing but that fact doesn't catch their attention the way his face and hands do. Dried blood sticks to his lower lip while a dark red mark threatens to turn purple on his cheekbone. Grime and what looks like blood color his nails and mar his palms, the knuckles of his right hand split and bleeding.  
  
Marik and Ishtar are on him in a second, Ishtar scooping the smaller man up to carry him to the sofa. Ishtar sets him down before carefully sitting next to him while Marik kneels on the floor by his feet. Bakura grabs the tea, toeing off his boots before joining them, placing the tea in front of Ryou. "Stop, I'm okay. Really." Ryou pats at them, trying to reassure his boyfriends. "I just turned my ankle and fell. That's all."

"Bullshit," Bakura challenges, crossing his arms over his chest. "You look like you were in a fight. What happened?"

Ryou takes his tea, sipping to have time to collect himself, not looking at any of them. "I got mugged, alright? I got banged up a bit when they jumped me." He takes another drink. "I'm sorry if you've been worried. They took my phone and I couldn't let you know. It was my own fault." He wrinkles his nose. "I should have called you for a ride."

"It's not your fault, _habibi_." Marik tries to smile, forces himself to smile, in hopes it will make Ryou feel better. He moves Ryou's hair off his shoulder. "You've walked home by yourself so many times before. How could you have known?"

Ishtar bends to help Ryou remove his tennis shoe, fingers gentle and mindful of his ankle. Marik works on the laces of his other shoe, pulling it off. "Should you have gone to the doctor? You might need this looked at.”

"No, no. I think if I just stay off it, it'll be alright." Ryou catches a glimpse of his own nails and grimaces. He still hasn't really looked at any of them, something Bakura hasn’t missed. "I must be a mess."

Bakura scowls but he offers his hand. "Come on. Let's get you showered and then you can eat. Ishtar will cry if you don't eat the dinner he made you." Ishtar flips him off, but it does make Ryou chuckle. He takes Bakura's hand, hobbling with him to the bathroom.

Ishtar tugs Marik up onto the sofa as they leave, wrapping his arms around him and kissing his hair. "He's okay. He's okay." It's as much to reassure himself as Marik. The other man nods, sinking into his near-twin's arms, the stress of the last few hours slowly melting away.

In the bathroom, Bakura silently helps Ryou undress, throwing away the ruined jeans. He strips himself and turns to start the water while Ryou looks at himself in the mirror. It's the sound of a drawer opening that catches Bakura's attention. Ryou has the scissors in his hand and holds them up to his own hair, quiet tears falling down his cheeks. "Ryou? Ryou, what are you doing?"

His hand trembles and Bakura reaches out, gently cupping around it. "They... they weren't trying to rob me." Ryou sniffs, his composure cracking. "They saw my hair and thought... I hate it. I hate my hair." He tries to pull his hand away, but Bakura's grip tightens.

"No, you don't. You love your hair. All of us love your hair." He pets over the white mass with his free hand, eyes meeting Ryou's teary ones in the mirror. "What happened?"

Ryou chews on his lip, making the scabbed over wound crack and bleed again. His eyes fall to the sink. "They thought I was a girl. They were going to... They grabbed me by my hair and when they realized I wasn't..." He swallows, words choking him. "They did take my stuff. They just meant to do more." His eyes jump to Bakura's. "I don't want them to know."

Bakura taps down his initial rush of anger and leans in to kiss Ryou's temple. "You're safe now. I won't say anything, but..." His fingers brush over the ends of Ryou's hair. "If you cut your hair now, they'll know something happened. Go on and put the scissors back. Water should be warm enough now." It's slow, like he's struggling to let go of the scissors, but Ryou finally puts them away, turning and clinging to Bakura.

"I tried. I tried to fight." His voice shakes as he cries on his shoulder. "I tried to be strong and brave. Like you. But I wasn't."

"Clearly, you were." Bakura rubs his cheek against Ryou's hair, holding him just as tightly. "You're home and not too terribly injured. I'd say you did well." He draws away, leading Ryou into the shower with him. "Let's get you clean and fed and then we can all lie down together. If you still want to cut your hair, we'll get Marik to do it tomorrow."

 

* * *

Marik protests the very idea of cutting Ryou's hair but the next evening finds them in the bathroom with the scissors. Bakura tugs on his boots, his own long platinum hair stark against his black tee. He pockets his dagger and cell phone, catching Ishtar's eye. Without a word, Ishtar changes into black clothing himself, stepping into his biker boots and grabbing the keys. "We're going out." Bakura squeezes into the bathroom to kiss Ryou's head and then Marik's mouth. "Don't wait up." Ishtar kisses them both as well, reminding Marik not to cut it too short before they head out.

The walk to the motorcycle is quiet as Bakura formulates his plan. Ishtar hands Bakura the spare helmet and starts the bike, the engine revving to life between his legs. "What’s the game? Trawl the street until we find 'em? How're we going to know if it's them?"

Bakura smirks from under his bangs. "I'm bait." Ishtar grins, wide and sharp, pushing his helmet down over his head. Bakura does the same, straddling the bike behind Ishtar, hands resting on his hips. They ride in the direction of the university and back, investigating down side streets and idling by alleys until Bakura spots a group of three guys mouthing off to passerby. He squeezes Ishtar's hip and they pull into an alleyway, stowing the bike and helmets away.

"If they don't follow you?" Ishtar slips on a pair of brass knuckles, leaning back against the wall. He stays hidden in the shadows, the trap to Bakura's lure.

Bakura swings his hair over his shoulder, cocking his hip to the side. "Oh, they will." He saunters down the block, eyes on the group. He had years of practice at pretending to be Ryou and the only thing that would give him away now would be the difference in their hair color. It's a gamble but Bakura's certain that they won't notice. They grin at his approach like jackals, posturing as they call out to him. Bakura's eyes widen, looking for all the world like a rabbit caught in a snare, before turning and running back down the street and ducking into the alley.

They chase after Bakura as he said they would, laughing that they had cornered him again. Bakura doesn't understand their words, the fluid Arabic and slang too fast for him, but Ishtar catches it. A low growl announces Ishtar's presence in the shadows, the only warning the men get before Bakura turns on them with his dagger drawn.  
  
The man nearest Bakura only has time to grunt in surprise as Bakura's knife plunges into his gut. He twists his wrist, cutting deeper, deliberately aiming for his organs. Warm blood spills over Bakura's hand and he readjusts his grip on the blade's handle. His friends rush for him and lunge at Bakura, but Ishtar steps forward, eyes dark with fury. Bakura yanks his dagger free and pushes the mortally wounded man away as Ishtar's fist catches the next man in his jaw, knocking his head back only to meet his temple with his fist again. The man falls, the back of his head making a violent, sickening sound on the pavement. The third man rages at them, aiming a gun at Ishtar. Bakura doesn't hesitate, stepping inside his guard, blade swiping deep into the man's wrist, severing veins and tendons, the gun falling to the concrete. He cries out, bringing up his other hand, only to feel his bones crack as Ishtar grips his wrist, breaking it.

"Listen up, motherfucker." Bakura doesn't waver from his position in the man's face, not bothering to raise his voice as the man screams at him. He can feel it. He can feel the remnants of shadow magic thrumming in the air, feels the darkness surrounding them thickening, waiting to be called forth if he would only do it. He resists, for now. Next to him, Ishtar interprets his words in the same bored tone.

"You boys picked the wrong target yesterday. I don't give a fuck about the shit you stole. However." Ishtar growls, punctuating Bakura's words. "You touched someone who belongs to us. Go back and tell the rest of your little piss-ant buddies that you do not fuck with us."

Ishtar's hand snaps out as Bakura finishes, squeezing the man's throat. His voice is low, almost seductive as he leans in to whisper in the man's ear. Whatever he says, Bakura doesn't catch, sneering when the stench of urine hits his nose. Ishtar shoves the man away by his throat, hissing curses at him even as the man stumbles and runs from them.

Dark amethyst eyes narrow at Bakura as Ishtar faces him, stepping over the bodies between them. Bakura grins viciously, kicking the groaning man he’d stabbed. Ishtar snatches a fistful of Bakura’s shirt before he notices and slams his back against the bricks. “Why didn’t you tell me?!”

Bakura grunts, dropping his dagger and clawing at Ishtar’s wrist, the blood on his hand making his fingers slip. “Get off me! Tell you what?! The bloody fuck are you talking about?!” His toes scrape to reach when Ishtar lifts him, the material of his tee stretching. The shadows around them thicken, reaching out, caressing their ankles. “Stop! Fuck, stop!”

“Ryou! Those assholes assaulted him.” He shakes Bakura against the wall. The veins along his jawline stand out and Bakura swallows thickly, panicking. “You knew, didn’t you? That’s why we’re here. Because they touched him and you knew.”

He almost doesn’t blame the other man for pissing himself anymore. The heel of Bakura’s palm presses into Ishtar’s sternum, trying to separate them. “Yes! Yes, alright, fuck.” He grits his teeth, their rage refocused and directed to each other. “He asked me not to tell you or Marik. He wasn’t ready for you to know.” He squirms and pushes. “Let me go!”

“That’s why he wanted to cut his hair. Isn’t it?” Ishtar growls and slams Bakura against the wall again. “ISN’T IT?!”

Stars scatter behind Bakura’s eyelids when his head hits the wall. “Yes.” The shadows are close, so enticingly close, if he would only reach out for their magic. But this is Ishtar, Ishtar the one who helped him adjust to being corporeal again, who gave him what he needed in the tomb, and he doesn’t want to fight him. “Stop. Please.” His eyes slit open, enough for Ishtar to catch the hint of red in his irises, enough for it to send a different sort of fiery passion over Ishtar’s nerves.

Ishtar’s mouth mashes against Bakura’s, stepping between his legs to press their bodies together. It’s rough and angry, Bakura grunting as he’s pinned, fingers scrambling at Ishtar’s chest and shoulders. A quick nip to his lower lip has his eyes popping open, the red glowing as the energy between them shifts and morphs. Ishtar’s free hand curls around his throat and Bakura gasps against his lips, chin lifting. He clings, giving up on his footing and wrapping his legs around Ishtar’s hips. Ishtar purrs his approval against Bakura’s cheek, his growing erection digging into Bakura’s crotch. His tongue curls around the shell of Bakura’s ear, making the other man shiver. “Still want me to stop?”

Bakura’s blunt nails hook into his shoulders, shaking his head as much as he can with the hand on his throat. He’s not applying pressure and it only enhances the heat between them, Bakura’s cock filling behind his zipper. Ishtar groans, rolling his hips forward, their lengths trapped between them. His teeth scrape over his jaw, Bakura arching his neck, offering his throat, legs clenching around him. “Don’t. Don’t stop.” Ishtar moves his hand lower so he can mouth at his pale skin, sucking and biting until red marks color his flesh, merging with the flush decorating his cheeks. Bakura tries to move without slipping down the wall, looking for more contact, his jeans making his dick throb uncomfortably. “Fuck. Please. Ishtar? Please!”

Neither is aware that they’ve called forth the shadows, cloaking themselves in the darkness. It protects them, hiding them from any that would try to look into the alley. The man bleeding out next to them chokes on the shadows, his death and the death of his partner, sending power surging through the dark magic, both Bakura and Ishtar gasping at it. Ishtar releases his hold, a whine emitting from Bakura as he slides down the wall, Ishtar’s knees hitting the concrete between his feet. His fingers tear at Bakura’s jeans, pushing them from his hips, nails scraping in his rush. Bakura hisses as the cooler air hits his cock, grabbing at Ishtar’s wild hair. Ishtar’s warm fingers circle around his length, stroking and guiding him to his mouth, his tongue hot and wet as it circles Bakura’s tip. His head falls back onto the wall, tugging at his hair, encouraging Ishtar to take him between his lips.

Ishtar’s mouth twitches up in a smirk, licking over and around his length, until his skin is shiny with spit. Only then does he curl his lips over his head, sucking away the precum welling in the slit. Bakura’s patience breaks, grabbing the back of Ishtar’s head and thrusting into his mouth. Ishtar scratches his thighs hard enough to draw blood, throat flexing around his length as he’s forced to take him all in. His teeth scrape over his base, fighting to move his head, struggling to be able to actually suck him and not simply choke on him. Bakura’s grip relents and Ishtar pops off, glaring up at him before dropping his head once more, nails cutting into his legs again in retaliation. The sharp pain only sends another jolt of pleasure through Bakura, hard length twitching on his tongue. He hisses, teeth scraping his lip, bucking into Ishtar’s mouth. He hums in response, the vibration shooting through his dick to where the pleasure is curled tight and hot in his groin. It’s enough to send him over the edge, gasping and tensing as his jism coats Ishtar’s tongue and the back of his throat.

He pants, curling over Ishtar’s spiky hair, fingers combing through them. “Shit.” Red clings to the edges of his pupils as he stares down at the other who wipes his mouth off. “Fucking hell…” Ishtar merely grins, pushing Bakura back into the wall as he rises to his feet, eyes heavy lidded. Their lips meet again, Bakura groaning at the taste of himself, their kiss not as violent as before but still rough. Ishtar pushes his fingertips into Bakura’s mouth, making him clean the blood off his nails. Bakura’s eyes roll back, trembling, Ishtar’s tongue darting between his lips until Bakura’s senses are flooded with him.

“Down.” Ishtar’s honeyed voice whispers in his ear and Bakura automatically folds to the ground, shaky fingers working on his pants. He barely registers that Ishtar isn’t wearing anything under his clothes before his length falls free, bobbing in his face. A warm hand catches his chin, drawing him closer, and Bakura lifts his eyes, rewarded with the raw lust darkening his amethyst eyes. Bakura isn’t as proficient at using his tongue and he’s too wrecked too tease, wetting his lips to slide them over his tip, down his length. What he can’t take, he uses his fingers to squeeze and stroke, nearly jacking him into his mouth. Ishtar’s fingers slip from his face and into his hair, picking up the length of it into a rope and using it to guide the motion of his head. The color on his face deepens, feeling used and finding he doesn’t mind it so much when it’s Ishtar using him. The thought makes Bakura whimper around his cock, his other hand holding on to his hip.

“Like that, hm?” Ishtar’s hands tighten around the weight of his hair. “Like having me fuck your throat?” Bakura’s eyes slam shut, inhaling through his nose, groaning in reply. “So good at taking cock, aren’t you? My cock, especially.” Bakura gags, his own fist bruising his lips as Ishtar’s hips surge forward. “Going to swallow all of me? Drink me down like you’re dying without my taste?” Bakura’s mouth works around his length, cheeks hollowing with each upslide. He does want it, like he wants to make Ishtar shut up now, sucking harder. Ishtar grunts, hand slamming against the wall to brace himself, cursing in Arabic as Bakura’s lips and tongue unwind him, rutting into the wet heat until he throws his head back, yelling as he cums. Bakura chokes on it, having to swallow when Ishtar doesn’t pull out immediately. He chuckles as he’s pushed away, Bakura gasping and pulling at him to stand upright.

“Bastard.” Bakura coughs into his hands, eyes back to their normal mahogany as he glares. “I couldn’t breathe.”

The taller man leans over him, nosing at his cheek affectionately. “You liked it.” The sounds of the surrounding streets rush back in as the shadows dissipate, their eyes meeting in acknowledgement of what happened. “We cannot tell them about that,” Ishtar states, the lingering effects of the shadow magic making his scars ache.

Bakura’s eyes slide to his, but he nods. “No point worrying them.” He tips his head to the bodies prone at their feet. “We’ve done worse though.”

Ishtar grins shamelessly, stepping back to right his clothing as Bakura does the same. “Seems we’re not as reformed as everyone thought.” His nose wrinkles and he turns to retrieve their helmets. “I’m not sure how I feel about that.” Bakura sneaks behind him, hesitantly offering comfort in an embrace. There are no words he can offer when he doesn’t share the feeling of regret. Ishtar shakes out his hair, patting Bakura’s arms. “Hurry up and put your helmet on. I want to go home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "If You Want Blood (You Got It)" by AC/DC.


	23. Chapter 23

"You're a mess! Both of you," Ryou frowns, reaching up to cup Ishtar's cheek, eyes flitting between them. "What happened?"

Marik doesn't comment on their appearance, sighing as he fetches damp washcloths for them. "Just had a little fun," Bakura answers, pulling off his filthy tee. "No big deal. Your hair looks good," he says to distract Ryou.

Ryou self-consciously pats at the white strands, looking up as Ishtar runs his fingers through it. It's a short bob that hits his shoulders, pieces angled longer in the front, soft layers and fringe framing his face. "It's short," Ishtar states, still playing with it, heedless of his dirty hands. "I like it." Soft color spreads over Ryou's face, deepening as Bakura kisses his cheek.

"It suits you," Bakura assures him. Marik presses a wet cloth into Ishtar's hand and scrubs at Bakura's face with another. "Ow, hey! Hey, not so hard." Bakura grabs at his wrist, trying to stop the assault to his skin.

"You're disgusting. You need a shower." Bakura pouts teasingly at Marik's words, whining that he’s tired. He grimaces as the cloth rubs over his face again. "Oh hell no, you are not getting into bed without getting clean." Marik jabs his finger into Ishtar's shoulder. "You too."

Later that night, as Marik curls into Bakura's clean arms, inhaling the scent of his soap, the soft sounds of Ryou's happy giggles and Ishtar's low groans coming from the adjacent room, he finally asks Bakura about it. “What happened?”

The former spirit sighs. “Do you really want to know? We took care of it.”

"...are they dead? The guys who hurt Ryou?"

Bakura noses at Marik's hair, hands spread protectively over his back. "Would it bother you if they are?" Marik shakes his head, burying his face against Bakura's neck. "Good. Because I'm not sorry about it."

"You shouldn't be. They tried to...” Ryou had spilled the details while Marik cut his hair. “I know it's wrong, but-"

"But they hurt Ryou." Bakura kisses his head. "Ishtar and me, there's still darkness in us. We're not going to be reformed." He slips a finger under Marik's chin, lifting his face. "Can you live with that?"

Marik doesn't hesitate as his hands curl over Bakura's shoulders, stretching up to press his lips to Bakura's. "Yes."

 

* * *

 

_I LIKE BIG BUTTS AND I CANNOT LIE. YOU OTH-_

Marik furiously scrambles to silence his phone, his coworkers openly staring at him because of his ringtone. Making his apologies, he dashes outside, leaning back against the wall.

"Fucking Bakura, I'm going to- Hello?" Marik holds the phone up to his ear, only half paying attention to the voice on the other end as he vividly imagines how to get Bakura back for changing his ringtone. Again. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch that."

The soft voice on the phone chuckles. "If you cannot talk, brother, I can call back."

The blonde almost drops his phone. "Odion!" There's a natural surge of joy at the sound of his voice, a bright smile spreading over his face. Though he was the one to force a separation, he still misses Odion. "How, how did you get my number? How..."  Marik huffs out a short laugh. "Oh. Ishizu."

His adopted brother hums in confirmation. "She gave it to me a few weeks ago. I did not want to intrude on your privacy." The statement hangs in the air awkwardly, Marik scuffing his shoe against the pavement. "How are you?"

"I'm okay," he replies, nodding at a passerby. "Actually, I'm fantastic. I'm taking a few classes and working and..." _And deeply in love with two people you don't know and one who tried to kill you_ , he doesn't add. "Why? What did our sister tell you?"

"That she gave you my number so you could tell me your news." Marik winces at that, still not offering any details. "I had hoped you would call. I never wanted this distance you have put between us."

The younger man sighs, raking his fingers through his hair. "I'm sorry. It felt like I had to do it. I wanted you to have your own life, one not in my shadow. I wanted..." He stares at a spot on the sidewalk. They had hashed all this out years ago. Odion never accepted his reasoning, insisting they were family, and Marik doubted he would change his mind now. "...why did you call?"

"Interesting that you mentioned a shadow." Marik's eyes slam shut as his world spins, sinking down to the ground, thinking that Odion knows, that he knows Marik brought back Ishtar, that he's been protecting him, that he vouched for him to Ishizu. He's suddenly filled with regret that he wasn't the one to tell his brother. "I heard something very curious. Two ghosts, one golden, one silver, killed a couple of small time thugs. Would you know anything about that?"

Marik curses under his breath, massaging his temple. "How did you hear about that?"

He could hear the hesitation in Odion's voice. "Marik," he starts gently. "The Rare Hunters did not disband merely because you walked away." Marik feels his heartbeat skip and kick into a faster rhythm. He's dizzy with the news, putting his head between his knees, drawing in deep breaths. "...brother?"

He wants to hang up. He wants to pretend he never heard it. But he can't. "I... Odion." A laugh chokes him, rubbing his face with a trembling hand. "And you stepped in to fill the space I left behind. Didn't you? Oh gods, Odion. I didn't… I never wanted that for you."

Odion doesn't answer right away. "You never asked what I wanted." The younger man blinks dumbly at the concrete between his feet, feeling like a heel. "Marik, I have been able to do good for people. It is not always through legal means, but we always saw ourselves as above such trivial things, did we not?" Marik can't speak because it's true.

And somewhere deep inside himself, Marik still feels that way.

"...that's why Ishizu said you could help us with IDs for them."

For about ten seconds, Marik doesn't think this call can get any worse. Then the bottom falls out. "...them? Marik. Marik, the men I was told about. That was you and Bakura, was it not? Marik?" There's no hint of panic in Odion's voice, but there is concern and Marik's heart sinks. "Marik?"

"He's back." Marik swallows against a tightness in his throat. "He's back and I'm sorry I didn't tell you or Ishizu right away but so much had happened. Has happened. I'm sorry."

"Where is he?" Odion's voice cuts like cold steel through Marik's regret.

"Ishtar's with me. Him and Bakura and Ryou, we all live together. He's better! I swear he is." One of his coworkers pokes his head out and Marik waves him away.

"He and Bakura killed two men! Violently," Odion hisses into the phone. "He tried to kill me time and time again. Marik, I am your brother! Where is your loyalty?"

In a strange way, Marik is proud of Odion for asking that. Before, Odion wouldn't have spoken back to him and certainly not questioned his loyalty. That he does now breaks Marik's heart as much as it fills him with pride. "He lived in me for so long," he offers, as though Odion wasn't well aware of that, as if it explains his loyalties. "We didn't mean to bring him back, but... I'm sorry, brother."

"As am I, Marik." He slowly pulls the phone from his ear as it goes dead, dropping his head back against the wall. He has to hold it together, pushing himself to his feet and going back inside to explain to his boss he needs the afternoon off for a family emergency. It's close enough to the truth. He doesn't remember the ride home, thoughts only clearing briefly as the door shuts behind him, looking up as a surprised Ishtar pokes his head out of the kitchen.

" _Nafsi_? What-" He doesn't finish, Marik choking on a sob as he finally allows himself to breakdown. Ishtar doesn't hesitate, pulling Marik into his arms and sinking to the floor with him. "What's happened?" he asks softly, petting over his near twin's hair. "Whatever it is, it will be alright. Come on now."

Marik sniffles against Ishtar's shoulder, arms limp at his sides. "Odion, he..." A fresh wave of tears begins and Marik clings to Ishtar, face buried into his shoulder. "He knows. He... Why?! Why did you have to kill them?! I wish... I wish..."

Ishtar tenses, hands stilling. "What do you wish, _nafsi_? That we hadn't killed the assholes who attacked Ryou? That you hadn't brought me back?" He snerks. "That I'd never been created at all? The list of injustices I've done you is rather long." He leans back and forces Marik to lift his face. "Which of my many sins do you wish I could undo?" Marik's violet eyes dart away, tears still falling down his cheeks.

Before he can answer, the door behind him opens, Ryou and Bakura stepping through, their smiles erased as they take in the sight before them. "Marik!" Ryou rushes to his side, kneeling next to him. "Are you okay?" He thumbs away the tears on his face, glancing at Ishtar as the other man stands. "What's going on?" Bakura steps closer, resting his hand on Marik's head while Ishtar slips on his shoes.

"I'm going out." Offering nothing more, he stalks out, door clicking shut behind him.

Bakura and Ryou exchange quick looks, decisions silently made. Ryou kisses Marik's cheek and hops to his feet, running out after Ishtar. "Wait! Wait for me!" As the door slams carelessly after Ryou, Bakura bends down for Marik’s hands, drawing him up and to the sofa. He settles them down, Marik perched on Bakura’s thighs.

“Talk to me, love.”

Marik’s eyes drop to his hands, listless in Bakura’s. “Odion called. He’s still leading the Ghouls. And he heard what you did but he thought it was me and I told him Ishtar was back and that he’s living with us and, and he hung up on me.” His voice chokes, tears still trailing down his face. He feels like he’s lost him, lost Odion. After everything he’d done to protect his brother and one accident, one decision and it all went to hell. “He must hate me.”

“He will never hate you.” Bakura’s cool hands cup Marik’s face. “He’s your family. He can’t hate you. He’s scared and confused and hurt, but family doesn’t hate family.” He gently wipes away the tears. “Did you try to call him back?” Marik moves his head side to side slightly. “Don’t you think you should?” One hand slips into Marik’s pocket and pulls out his phone. “Come on now.”

The Egyptian coughs as he takes the phone, tapping the screen until the last incoming call pops up. Bakura kisses his shoulder and rubs his back encouragingly. Neither of them is surprised when it goes to voicemail. “Odion? Odion, I want to talk to you. Please? I’m sorry I didn’t tell you and… and I’m sorry I shut you out. Can we please talk about this? Okay, well. You have my number. Bye.”  Bakura eases the phone out of his hands and sets it aside. Marik shifts and curls into his chest. “My back hurts.”

Immediately, Bakura’s hand slips under Marik’s shirt, cool skin pressing lightly over the heated scars. He moves slowly, covering each area, listening to Marik’s breathing for any signs of discomfort. “Want me to get the oil?”

“No, I-” Both their heads lift as the door opens, Ryou leading Ishtar back inside. Marik gets to his feet, eyes only for Ishtar. “Can we talk?”

Ryou nudges Ishtar over and holds his hand out for Bakura. “Come help me with dinner, ‘Kura.” With another quick kiss to Marik’s shoulder, Bakura steps around him, patting Ishtar’s arm as he takes Ryou’s hands, disappearing into the kitchen with him.

Ishtar watches them go before turning his attention back to Marik. “I’m listening.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "Forgive Me" by Godsmack.


	24. Chapter 24

"I'm sorry." Ishtar crosses his arms over his chest, taking in Marik's apology with the skeptical glance. Marik drags his fingers through his hair. "I'm sorry that I made you feel like I regret you. I don't." The other man huffs and stalks past Marik to the tiny balcony where they usually let their laundry dry. Marik follows, shutting the door behind them. "I regret how Odion found out you were back, but I'm not sorry that you're here. Not anymore."

Ishtar's eyes cut over to Marik as he leans forward on the railing. "Coulda fooled the fuck out of me. What did he say that made you lose it like that?"

"He accused me of being disloyal to him." Marik sinks to the floor, propping his feet against the railing as he leans back against the wall. "My loyalty was never questioned before. It never mattered."

"Our loyalties were our own." Ishtar gazes up at the sky, the setting sun and day's pollution coloring it a muddy orange. The reflected light suits him. "But that can't be what wrecked you."

Marik sighs, unconsciously mirroring Ishtar's expression as he looks up at the sliver of sky he can see from his position. "It was everything. You. Feeling like I betrayed our brother. He..." Marik's eyes slip closed, voice hushed. "He's still running the Ghouls."

Ishtar arches a brow, looking over his shoulder at Marik. "Oh." He remembers those days, times when he could slip to the forefront of Marik's mind, encouraging, controlling. They'd killed a few people though Ishtar was never certain if Marik remembered it afterwards. They had certainly been reckless with more lives than he could recall. In the end, the only ones who had ever mattered were themselves.

"Odion's using it to help people now. It's not like anyone would need the god cards anyways." His eyes open slowly, unfocused. "I miss it. I miss the money. The luxury. I miss the penthouse, the boat. I miss the power. Ra, I want that power back some days." His fist clenches. "It would be so easy. Take the Rod. Bring idiots to heel. Make a better life for us, for them. I want it."

He doesn't notice Ishtar moving carefully, going to one knee at his side. His hands cup Marik's fist, prying his hand open. "I know." Ishtar threads their fingers together, making Marik turn his head, having been lost in memories and daydreams. "And that scares you. How easily you would slip back into that life. Even without me inside you, you would take back what's yours. Your power." Marik swallows and nods. "It wouldn't be the same this time. You're not driven by revenge. Or me." He laughs softly. "You were a good leader. Still are."

"I'm supposed to be apologizing to you," Marik points out, eyes locked on Ishtar's.

He shrugs one shoulder, tugging Marik to his feet. "You did. If you still feel bad, blow me." Marik swats at him though his eyes go heavy lidded, tongue peeking out past his lips. Ishtar pulls him closer, keeping their fingers entwined, his other hand holding Marik's hip, voice dropping low in Marik's ear. "Ryou has it. If you want it, ask for it."

Marik grips his wrist, voice thick. "I can't. I don't trust myself with it." The thought of having the Rod again, of the taste of power he got from bringing Bakura and Ishtar back, is heady, making him sway into Ishtar.  
  
His almost twin smiles, kissing his cheek. "And that's why I would trust you." He moves with him, well familiar with the roller coaster of Marik's emotions and what he needs. His hand pushes at Marik's hip, guiding him back down to the floor. "Come on now," he purrs. "Show me how thankful you are for me. You'll feel better."

When Ryou opens the balcony door several minutes later, concerned when he hadn't heard them in awhile, he's only half surprised to find Marik on his knees with his mouth occupied. Ishtar's chuckle follows him back into the apartment as he fans himself, face red from how hot Marik looked sucking off his near-twin.

"What's up? Did they kill each other?" Bakura sets dinner on the table, letting Ryou come up and wrap his arms around his waist. "Seriously. Are they okay?"

Ryou giggles and squeezes Bakura tighter. "Marik is having an appetizer. They'll be in soon." He presses his hips into Bakura's backside.

"I live with a bunch of sluts," Bakura mutters good-naturedly, tugging Ryou’s hair lightly, making him sigh. "Constantly sucking and fucking. Nymphos, the lot of you."  


* * *

Odion never calls Marik back. All Ishizu will tell him is that Odion is upset, both over the secret and the fact that they've seemed to forgive and forget. The only thing that placates Marik is his sister's constant reassurance that Odion loves his family and will come around. Eventually.

None of them are really thinking about Odion a week later when everything goes to hell.

"Shit! Shit! Fuck, Ryou! Gods damnit!"

"No, wait! Here. Don't burn yourself too."

"Motherfuckers!" Bakura breaks out into a coughing fit as smoke fills the kitchen, his attempt at learning how to cook not going well at all. "Fucking oven!"

Marik rushes to the balcony, opening the door to get the smoke out, turning back as a knock sounds at the door. He's on the complete other side of the apartment and Ryou steps out of the kitchen, waving a towel. "I got it, Marik. They're probably worried we're burning the place down." Bakura releases a string of expletives in the kitchen, a dull thud audible as he kicks the oven. Again. Ryou's only half attentive as he opens the door, head turned to the kitchen. "Don't kick it!" He doesn't even get a chance to greet the person at the door before someone tall, taller than even Ishtar, and strong, spins him, holding Ryou's back to his chest. Ryou goes still, the knife at his throat keeping him quiet as he locks eyes with Marik across the apartment.

"Odion!" Marik freezes in place, lavender eyes wider than Ryou's ever seen them, staring at them in the front door. "Odion, what the hell?!"

"Where is he?" Odion demands.

Ryou hasn't picked up enough Arabic to understand his words and certainly not when he's being held at knifepoint. From the corner of his eye, the smoke-filled shadows from the kitchen darken and move slowly closer.

"Let Ryou go! We're not talking until you get that fucking knife away from him. What the fuck is wrong with you?!" Marik steps closer and Ryou squeaks as Odion's arms squeeze him tighter.

"ME?!" Odion yells, making Ryou flinch. "You've let a murderer, two murderers, into your home. One who tried to kill me repeatedly. Tell me where he is and I'll send him to the shadows properly."

Marik shakes his head, fists clenched at his sides. "No. No, Odion, stop. This isn't right, you know it."

"Besides," Ishtar purrs, appearing at the edge of the hallway, leaning against the wall, all lethal grace. "I never actually hurt you." Odion releases Ryou with a curse and Ryou feels himself yanked out of the way.

"He didn't, but I will," Bakura hisses and before Odion ever sees him step from the shadows, a frying pan comes down on the back of his head. The blow sends Odion sprawling out on their floor as Bakura kicks the door shut behind him, shadows dissipating. "Get the rope."

Ryou groans, rubbing at his throat. "Are we going to do this to everyone? Tangled was not a how-to video!"

Three voices answer him in unison. “What’s Tangled?”

 

* * *

Odion comes to with a raging headache, cracking his neck as he lifts his head. He tries to lift a hand to rub the back of his head but finds he can’t, opening his eyes to find he’s been tied to one of the dining room chairs. The rush of noise when he awoke settles into the distinct voices of his siblings and the demon who wormed his way back into the world. The chair scrapes as he struggles to get free. A hand pats the top of his head and makes him still.

“You’ll give yourself rope burn if you keep that up.” Bakura falls into a chair next to him, sipping from a mug of tea, as though this was any other day.

Ryou follows behind, setting a glass of water on the table and holding up two white pills. “Ishizu said you weren’t allergic to any medications. This will help your head. Open up.”

“And no biting.” Bakura’s gaze goes sharp, leaning forward in his chair.

Odion does as he’s told, playing along for now, swallowing the painkillers and water when Ryou holds it to his lips. “Why bother helping me when I am like this because of you?”

Ryou tsks, sitting on Bakura’s thigh. “You attacked me. The last guys who did that ended up dead. So we’ve been rather gentle with you so far.”

Marik’s voice rises in the other room, drawing their attention until Ishizu’s calm voice interjects. “You’re harboring a monster. I protect my family. Above all else, that is my duty.”

“Can’t you see that’s what ‘Kura and Ishtar did for me? That’s the whole reason Ishtar exists. To protect Marik.” Ryou tips his head to the side as Bakura brushes his shorter hair off his neck. Odion’s eyes dart away with a disgusted look. “Are we making you uncomfortable?”

“It’s unnatural.” Odion’s mouth settles into a firm line.

“Nothing about this is natural. I’m the spirit of a dead tomb thief that looks like my former vessel. Your own brother was carved up in some sick ritual by a man who also tried to kill you, as I understand it.” Bakura’s dark eyes fix him and a lesser man would have squirmed. “An act that allowed Ishtar to take control of your brother. To avenge what Marik thought was your murder.” Odion scowls. “He only tried to kill you afterwards because your love for Marik was a contradiction to everything that created him.”

Ryou slips off Bakura’s lap, offering Odion the water again. “All of you went through such trauma. Ishtar too.” He holds the glass steady for him as he drinks. “None of us would ask you to pretend it didn’t happen, but he’s adjusting. If you gave him a chance, like Ishizu has, you’d gain another brother. If you don’t…” Ryou puts the water down and the look in his eyes reminds Odion that Ryou lived many years as the bearer of a Millennium Item. “I think you know what will happen if you come after any of us.” He holds his hand out for the knife Bakura supplies, stepping around the chair to cut the knots free. Odion shifts, stretching his back, still not trusting that the blade won’t end up embedded in him somewhere. Ryou lays the dagger on the table, extending his hand to help Odion to his feet, Bakura standing at his back.

There’s no advantage in trying to fight them both on their territory, so Odion pretends to swallow his pride and gets to his feet. Ryou gestures to the living room, following behind, threading his fingers with Bakura’s. They stay in the doorway, Odion notes, blocking his exit. Marik jumps to his feet, standing protectively in front of Ishtar who stands slowly. It’s Ishizu who diffuses the tension, remaining on the sofa. “Brother, come sit with me. We were just speaking of you.”

Odion crosses to her, kissing her cheek before sitting next to her. Ishtar folds back into the chair, Marik’s muscles reluctantly relaxing, stepping to the side and leaning against the chair. “Have you fucking calmed down?” Marik snipes.

“Have I-” Odion’s retort is cut off by Ishizu placing her hand on his arm. Her blue eyes plead with him to try. “Yes. I will shirk my duties as your bodyguard and ignore the threat in the room.” Ishizu sighs.

“You haven’t been my bodyguard in years!” Marik’s hands clench, standing straighter. “I haven’t wanted you to be my fucking servant since I was sixteen! You’re my brother.”

“And really, I was more his bodyguard than you,” Ishtar drawls.

“Not helping,” Ryou and Bakura groan.

Ishizu holds up her hand. “You both wished to protect Marik. Can’t you realize that? You both love him so fiercely, in your own ways. You aren’t that different in that regard.”

“He tried to kill me or have you forgotten, sister?” Odion gapes at her, wondering if he’s the only one in full control of his sanity.

“As I explained to Ishizu, you were a threat to my existence. You aren’t any more.” Ishtar crosses his arms, looking down his nose at Odion. “I haven’t even thought of you until you made Marik cry.”

Marik’s eyes drop to the floor, feeling like a child for having cried. The words hit Odion as sharp as a slap across his face. “I did not intend to upset you.” He rubs at the tattoos covering half his face. “We have each hurt the other.”

Bakura claps his hands. “And now the healing can begin.” Ryou elbows his ribs, grabbing his shirt and dragging him into the kitchen, muttering about putting another pot of tea on the stove.

“I want my family back,” Marik murmurs as he watches the other two disappear. “That includes them now. I don’t want us to be estranged anymore.”

Odion’s eyes lock with Ishizu who keeps her gaze neutral, a look he sees mirrored on Ishtar. It’s Marik’s eyes that break his resolve, the openly hopeful look he gives him, and Odion finally sinks back into the cushions. “I have missed you, brother.” Marik squeaks, a light push from Ishtar, propelling him to the sofa, arms wrapping around his older siblings. The look Ishtar and Odion exchange over his head is clear: fuck with Marik and I will fuck you up. They both nod, tentative truce accepted.

“Marik?” Ishizu pushes him back, petting his hair like she did when they were young. “Didn’t you have something you wanted to ask Odion to help you with?”

Over a late dinner of leftovers and the unburnt portions of Bakura’s salvaged meal, Odion finds himself laughing at Ishtar and Bakura’s antics. When Marik’s happy grin catches him across the table, Odion returns it easily, quietly proud of the man his little brother has grown into.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "Ain't About The Money" from the Empire soundtrack.
> 
> We will return to actual smut next chapter. Anyone up for some Tornshipping?!


	25. Chapter 25

"What do you want your last name to be?"

"It's Bakura."

Marik sighs and taps his pen against a notepad full of Bakura's fake identity data. He arches a brow inquisitively. "Fine. Then what's your first name?"

"Ry-" Bakura's eyes dart to Ryou who grins in amusement. "Fuck."

"Exactly." Marik scratches something out, handing it over to Ryou to review. "Unless you want to be known as Fuck Bakura." Bakura drops his head onto the table, hitting it a few times and groaning. "And listen." He leans over closer to Ryou to look at the paper again. "I still need where you were born." Ryou kisses Marik's head when he kisses Ryou's shoulder before straightening.

Bakura lifts his head, eyes narrowed. "Kul Elna."

Ryou and Marik exchange a look before Ryou cautiously speaks. "Kul Elna doesn't exist anymore. There are no houses there. We could maybe see what the closest village is..." Ishtar sets tea down for all of them and bumps Ryou's knee, tipping his head. Ryou stands up for a moment, waiting until Ishtar sits down before sitting back on his lap. "Or we can go the twin route which is probably the easiest."

"I was born in Kul Elna." Bakura pouts, reaching for his tea. "I may not remember much of it, but it's still home." His eyes flick around the table. "Before this, I mean."

Marik sighs again and takes the paper back from Ryou. "I agree with Ryou. Let's say you're twins and then we only need a first name for you." He crosses out an October birthdate and starts writing Ryou's September birthday instead. "You already have his info memorized. It'll make things more convincing if you get stopped."

Bakura starts to object, Ishtar cutting him off. "It's a fake document. It doesn't mean Kul Elna can't be your birthplace or that we can't celebrate your birthday in October if you want." Ryou nods behind his teacup. "Thought you didn't remember much of that life anyways."

The tea is suddenly very interesting to Bakura, not looking at them. "It's been coming back. A little. Not enough to write a biography, but sometimes I get pieces of memories that don't include the Ring." He doesn't admit that these flashbacks only started after Ishtar and he had inadvertently tapped into the shadow magic. Instead, he changes the subject. "We have to do this for you too, you know."

Ishtar smirks into his tea. "I'm easy. I was created on Marik's birthday in the tomb where he was born." He shrugs. "We have to lie about the year. No one would believe I'm ten years younger than Marik."

"You do need a first name though," Marik points out. He leaves his tea ignored while he thinks. " _Asadi_ Ishtar won't work anymore than Fuck Bakura would." He stares at his twin, nose scrunched. "Malik?"

"No," he says. "Too close to yours."

"Rik?" Ryou suggests. Ishtar shakes his head.

Bakura props his chin on his palm. "Is Crazy Motherfucker too long for a passport?" Marik and Ishtar kick him under the table. "Ow!"

"How do parents do this?" Ryou muses, gathering up his and Bakura's empty mugs. "They don't even know their kids' personalities and they have to pick out their names."

"Nasir." Ishtar's voice is low, meeting Marik's eyes across the table. Marik's shoulders tense and he frowns. Bakura's and Ryou's eyes slide between them, going still and quiet.

"Why?" Marik's hand goes to his shoulder, fingertips brushing the edges of his scars where they're hidden under his tee. "Why would you want his name?" He shifts, scars aching in memory, but he never looks away from Ishtar.

Bakura moves his chair closer, silently rubbing Marik's neck, avoiding the scars for now. Ishtar shrugs. "It was his actions that broke you enough to make me. It was what he did to Odion that gave me the opening to take over. Besides, the name fits me better than it did him."

Marik drops his eyes to the table and swallows, leaning into Bakura's touch. "What does it mean?" Ryou asks carefully.

"Helper. Protector." Marik rubs his hands over his face. "Alright. Fine. Odion's not going to like it either but yeah. Nasir. Shit." He writes it down. "We still need a first name for you, Bakura."

Ryou takes the empty teacups to the kitchen while Bakura steals Marik's untouched mug. "Is Asshole too long for the form?"

"Very funny, Ryou. What about King?" Marik rolls his eyes at Bakura’s suggestion. "Hey, King is a real name!"

"No, Bakura."

 

* * *

Bakura drops his passport on his dresser and drags his fingers through his hair. Hisao. In the end, Ryou had pulled up a baby name website and picked Hisao for him. He didn't feel like a Hisao. Grumbling to himself, Bakura sits on the floor, leaning against the bed, head tipped back and basking in the late afternoon sun filtering through the window. The name was acceptable and it wasn't as though any of them ever intended to call him anything other than Bakura anyways. Still, the name felt strange on his tongue.

He wasn't Japanese or British like Ryou. His body might have been, he supposed, but he wasn't. He closes his eyes, sinking back into the flashes of memories. Bakura focuses to steady his breathing, pushing past the wall in his mind occupied by his time in the Shadow Realm. A second mental wall, buffering his time from when Ryou found the Ring to the millennia spent listlessly disembodied as the Ring's spirit, fell. Rage burns through him and he keeps his breathing slow even as his fists clench. If he can get through the anger, he could remember.

The first memory had surfaced a few hours after the shadows had surrounded them, like slipping through a hidden door in the darkness. Kul Elna, before the fire. Bakura had been in the shower when it happened, throwing a hand out to steady himself, rocked by the unexpected vision. He'd been about to call out but the water in the shower went cold and he was yanked out of the memory, walls going back up. Since then, he'd been trying to recall it, trying to separate Zorc's rage and his former self's grief. If he could do it, then maybe, maybe he thought, he could reach that part of his soul that had once belonged to the legendary Thief King.

Today, the frustration keeps those memories out of his grasp.

Bakura pounds his fist on the floor. "Damnit!"

"You need music or something." Bakura's hair whips around his face as he turns to the voice in the doorway. Ishtar straightens and steps over to him, folding down to sit in front of him. The sunlight backlights his hair and puts his face in shadow.  "And don't lean back against the bed. Sit up."

He doesn't move, still fighting the remembered rage that was never really his. "You don't know what I'm doing."

"Don't I?" Ishtar grabs Bakura's arms and pulls him upright. He fusses, but Bakura doesn't fight. "You're meditating. Or trying to." Ishtar tenderly brushes Bakura's hair away from his face. "Haven't you ever noticed the corner in our room Ryou decorated for me?"

Bakura huffs and averts his eyes. "Thought you guys liked wax play with all the candles."

He smiles but doesn't correct that assumption. "It helps calm me. I prefer the candles, but if you want the sunlight, that works too." His hands slip to Bakura's thighs, caressing him lightly. "What's blocking your thoughts?"

"You're not a therapist," Bakura snaps, tensing. Ishtar doesn't react, hands still moving over his legs. "It's stupid. It's so stupid. I'm stupid." Bakura sighs, his head hanging forward. "If I were stronger..."

"Seems to me that someone who has existed in one form or another for three thousand years would be pretty fucking strong. A dark god's defeat couldn't even kill you properly."

Bakura snorts. "And that's the problem. How much of me is him? Is the Thief King? If I'm not part of Zorc and I'm not wholly the Thief King, what the fuck am I?"

"You're Bakura, former inhabitant of the Millennium Ring, currently beloved of Marik, Ryou, and myself." Bakura's cheeks darken to hear that. "You were created, I think, by the merging of a mortal soul with the being of a god through a blood-cursed item worn for many years by a boy whose face you now wear. It's a lot, but then each of us has complicated history. If you accept that, you might be able to remember more of the Thief King's life."

"Fuck." The last of the rage finally fades, shadows in the room lengthening. "You don't deal with all this."

"No," Ishtar admits. "I know what I am and I know which memories are mine or Marik's." He gets to his feet, leaning down to kiss Bakura's forehead. "You have three millennia of shit to wade through. It's going to take time, but I know you can manage it." Ishtar straightens with a grin, carding his fingers into Bakura's hair. "After all, you outlasted Zorc and the pharaoh. I'll get Ryou to make you a playlist." He gives his hair a little tug, grin widening at the soft sigh from Bakura that it earns him.

With a roll of his shoulders, Bakura settles into the upright position as Ishtar leaves, pulling the door shut behind him. The shadows around him darken, but he doesn't purposely seek the old memories, closing his eyes as he thinks about everything Ishtar said.

 

* * *

"So he said he'd have Ryou make me a playlist." Bakura twists a strand of Marik's golden hair around his finger, lying tangled up with him in their bed later that night. He'd stayed on the floor and replayed Ishtar's words over and over until the automatic nightlight in their room kicked on. The shadows had scurried away from the light, but he tried not to think about it, especially not now, the same nightlight currently fighting to keep the night's darkness at bay.

Marik's hand slides over Bakura's waist to settle on his hip. Everything was quiet, even their voices hushed, and if Marik notices that the shadows were a little thicker in their room tonight, he doesn't mention it. "Do you think it would help?" His thumb rubs along the exposed skin above Bakura's sleep pants. "Do you want to remember?"

He scoots closer, one ankle slinging over Marik's. "Yeah, I think I do." Bakura kisses the hair curled around his finger. "I need to know which pieces of me are him and which are Zorc."

"And Ryou. Ryou's a part of you too." Marik tipped his head nearer, brushing their noses together. "You know we're going to love you regardless, right?" Bakura's chin tilts up, lips parting, ready for the kiss Marik seemed about to give.

"'Kura? Marik?" Like a ghost summoned by Marik using his name, Ryou hovers by their door. His bed-tousled hair covers his shoulders, the paleness contrasting the black of Ishtar's shirt he's stolen to sleep in.

Neither groans in frustration at the aborted kiss, separating enough to look at him. Marik pushes himself upright. "Yeah? You okay? Come here."

Ryou rushes to their bed, crawling onto it and sitting by their feet. Bakura humphes and nudges him closer with his foot. "I couldn't sleep and I thought I heard you so..."

Bakura reaches and grabs Ryou's wrist, drawing him farther up the bed between them. "You don't need to ask. You can come in whenever you want." With a happy little noise, Ryou snuggles between them. "Ishtar's okay?" Marik lays back down, propping himself on his elbow to look down at them, Ryou tucking himself against Bakura's side.

He nods. 'He's sleeping so deeply. I didn't want to wake him." Ryou smiles as Bakura's arm under his head stretches out, his fingers finding Marik's hair again. "You always did like gold, 'Kura. I always thought that was half your attraction to Marik."

A soft wash of color spreads over Marik's cheeks as Ryou also starts toying with his hair. Two sets of brown eyes look up at him, white hair spread out over their pillows, and it's a heady sight to have them both laid out next to him. Marik swallows and Ryou is only a half second behind Bakura in figuring out why Marik is looking at them so intently.

"I do fancy gold," Bakura agrees, his free hand cupping Ryou's face and turning it toward him. "But I also can appreciate a fine pearl." Knowing Marik's eyes are glued to them, Bakura brushes his lips against Ryou's, repeating the motion until Ryou's tongue peeks out over his lips to wet them. A small sound sneaks out of Marik's mouth, making Bakura grin and lift up, leaning over Ryou to kiss Marik softly. Before Marik can press into the kiss, he pulls away, letting Ryou cup his hand around the back of Marik's neck and bring him down for his own kiss.

A quick glance at Bakura has Ryou crawling over Marik and sandwiching him on his back between them. "Wha-" Marik's question cuts off when Ryou and Bakura both attack his neck and shoulders with kisses His head tips back, eyes closing, Bakura's little bites contrasting with the gentle caress of Ryou's lips. "Shit." Their fingers slip under his tank top, Bakura's fingertips tracing his abs, Ryou's going straight for Marik's nipple, rolling it between his finger and thumb. Marik arches and hisses, grabbing at two slim hips, skin heating under their attention. Bakura's fingers toy with the waistband of Marik's boxers as Ryou tugs Marik's shirt up. In the glow of the nightlight, Marik watches as they slowly undress him, worshipping the revealed flesh with fingers and mouths.

Bakura reaches for Ryou, tugging the shirt over his head and tossing it to the floor with Marik’s clothes. He pushes his own sleep pants from his hips as Ryou wriggles out of his briefs, both turning to stretch out along Marik’s darker body, lips and hands reattaching to his skin. Marik arches, eyes closing, grabbing for them blindly. “Oh, oh shit,” he murmurs, licking his lips as they alternate kissing down his body. Marik spreads his legs, Bakura straddling his thigh, Ryou shifting between them. He doesn’t think they can communicate telepathically, but their coordinated attentions certainly feel like it. By the time, they reach his cock, Marik’s fully hard, hissing as two tongues slide up over his length. He grabs a pillow, stuffing it behind his head so he can watch, Ryou’s shorter hair tickling his hip, Bakura’s brushing along his inner thigh. Marik tenses his thigh under Bakura, smirking when he grinds against him. Bakura’s lips seal around his tip, suckling, while Ryou goes lower, licking up his balls.

Marik’s hands card into their hair, writhing under them. They tease him, bringing him closer and closer to the edge to leave him hanging there, walking him back with soft kisses to his thighs, hips, and stomach. He whines, shamelessly needy for them, bucking up, into Ryou’s mouth now, Bakura biting at his hip. He can feel Bakura’s erection on his leg, skin damp, and the bed moves, Ryou grinding down against the mattress. His breath catches, muscles contracting, dick dripping onto his stomach as they both pull away again. Denied orgasm once more, Marik growls in frustration, fisting their locks and pulling them both back up to him. “Bastards.” Releasing their hair, his hands curl around their cocks, squeezing and pulling.

They gasp and roll into his grip, Bakura recovering slightly before Ryou and taking Marik’s dick in hand, stroking him. Ryou mirrors the action, leaning over Marik to kiss Bakura. Marik twitches, whimpering at the deliberate show until Ryou takes pity on him, turning to kiss Marik, Bakura nipping at his earlobe. Ryou breaks the kiss, panting, Bakura taking his place, sucking on Marik’s lower lip until they’re each thrusting into each other’s hands. Marik, having been kept on the brink for so long, breaks first, cum streaking up to his chest as Bakura’s mouth stifles his cries. Marik taken care of, Bakura and Ryou reach for each other, Bakura thumbing Ryou’s slit, Ryou going to cup his balls as Marik jacks them. Both moan against Marik’s neck until they cum, both going still at the same time, cum hitting Marik’s stomach and hips and coating their hands. None of them speak, lazily kissing each other as they come down. Marik’s asleep first, Ryou and Bakura following quickly after, too drained to deal with the mess.

Ishtar finds them just like that in the morning, leaving a towel at the foot of the bed, and hopping in the shower to use the hot water before they can get up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "Slow" by Colours.


	26. Chapter 26

"You do not have to keep working there, you know." Odion sips his coffee across the cafe table from Marik. After all the drama with Ishtar and Bakura, after the years of separation between the brothers, this routine of a weekly coffee is something they both cherish. Marik, caught stretching his shoulders yet again, freezes and gives him a sheepish grin. "I am sure you enjoy the work, but there are other things you could do."

Marik arches a blonde brow, curling his hands around his own coffee. "Such as? I need money, brother. Everything I had went into bringing them back. And you know Bakura won't get a job. Ryou's in school and Ishtar..." He shrugs. "Ryou brings in a little bit of money but it's really on me."

"It has always been on your shoulders." Odion's soft smile reminds Marik of when he was a little boy, when Odion would try to let him play, to let him be a child. "You disavowed our clan and created your own, first with the Ghouls, and now with them. Of the two, I suppose I prefer you with them." His smile is hidden behind his coffee cup for a moment. "At least I know they care for you as much as your sister and I do."

"They're more than a clan. They're family. Which is why I need to take care of them." Marik leans forward. "They depend on me though they're all too proud to say it. Them being here is my responsibility." He frowned. "What else would I do?"

Odion sets his coffee down, eyes locked on Marik's as he grins. "Come work for me." Marik chokes on his coffee. "Clearly, I need someone here in Cairo if these small time guys think they can run this city. There is no one I would trust more with the position and you conveniently come with your own security."

The younger man's frown only deepens. "Odion. I'm not sure... Last time..." He scrapes his fingers through his hair, voice lowering to a whisper. "It was different with the Rod. People didn't do what I told them because they wanted it. I controlled them."

"You would be helping people now." Odion tilted his head, watching Marik's face. "That scum that went after Ryou? You could stop things like that from happening. We might collect a small protection fee for our services, but nothing that cannot be easily absorbed into a business' operating costs. It would keep you afloat while you actually do good. Are you not tired of existing in neutral?" Steam from Odion's coffee curls around his face. "I would also hire Ishtar and Bakura. If they provide you with security, I would pay them for it."

It's tempting, so tempting, Marik's eyes going to the window as he thinks it over. It's a better job for himself, even if it isn't exactly legal, and employment for Bakura and Ishtar too. It's what he wanted, wasn't it? "I need to talk to them. If they don't want to do this, I can't. I don't think I could go back into that life without them."  
  
Odion nods, pushing himself to his feet. "Let me know of your decision." He taps the table. "Do not be late to work, brother. I do not tolerate tardiness." He teases him, a subtle reminder that he would be the boss if Marik accepts. With a curse, Marik notices the time, chair scraping back as he dashes out the door, his brother's soft laughter behind him.

He spends all afternoon at work thinking over Odion's offer. His boss catches him slacking a few times, reprimanding him until Marik refocuses, hunching over, back and shoulders aching. The drive home doesn't alleviate the pain and that pushes his decision. Before he can even slip his shoes off, he asks Ryou, Ishtar, and Bakura to come into the living room with him. Ryou and Bakura settle on the sofa, Ryou's bare feet bouncing over Bakura's legs. Ishtar makes himself comfortable in the chair they'd all started to consider his. Marik had thought to stand, but then Ishtar's hands tug him onto his lap and he perches there, full of nervous energy.

"I want to go back to the Rare Hunters. Odion offered me a job and I want to accept." Three pairs of brows shoot up. Ishtar's hands rub Marik's shoulders, trying to ease the tension he's carrying, as Bakura and Ryou exchange a look. "He said something. That I'm only existing right now and he's right. I want to do something, make a difference if I can. And..." He hesitates, looking over his shoulder at Ishtar.

"And this job is wearing on you physically, isn't it." He knows, he can feel it in his near twin's muscles, the tightness under scarred skin drawn too tight as well. Marik gives him a small nod, confirming it, gritting his teeth as Ishtar finds a particularly sore spot on his back. "I told you that you are a good leader. Is this something that you want our approval for?"

Ryou sits up to stretch over and take Marik's hands. "I don't think it sounds like this is the same enterprise as what you had before. You aren't under the influence of the Rod. If this is something you want, then I'm with you." Ryou gives him a small smile and squeezes his fingers. "I chose to be with you when I left Japan. I'm not going to run because you want to switch jobs."

Marik's mouth twitches up, unable to resist the sweetness on Ryou's face. "It's more complicated than a career change. What Odion's doing still isn't legal, really. Are you okay if the three of us go back into organized crime?"

"Wait, three of us?" Bakura pauses in his stroking of Ryou's calves.

"Odion offered you and Ishtar employment too. As my security. There might be some... clean up involved as well." Marik can't meet Ryou's eyes as he says it, not wanting him to feel guilty for what needed to be done. "I'd try to minimize it, but it's a risk. Odion said he'd pay you too." He leans back against Ishtar's shoulder, muscles finally relaxing, Ishtar's hand petting over his stomach. "We're a package deal. I'm not doing this unless you agree."

Bakura snorts, a smirk teasing the corner of his mouth. "It's not like anyone expected me to get a real job. I'm in."

" _Akh_ trusts me to protect you?" Ishtar's eyes betray his worries. While he and Odion had reached a truce, they were not, nor did Ishtar expect them to be, close. That he would offer a job that got to the heart of Ishtar's purpose was surprising. Marik tilts his head back to kiss his jawline, humming in affirmation. Ishtar closes his eyes. "Fuck. Okay, I'll do it."

Marik loops an arm around Ishtar's neck, shirt riding up. "There's one more thing. Ryou?" The Brit pulls back from where he'd been nuzzling against Bakura's throat. "Will you please get rid of the Rod for me? I don't want to know what happens to it. I just want it gone."  
  
Ryou looks to Bakura who nods. "Yes, we can do that." The last bit of stress melts out of Marik's form, arching under Ishtar's wandering hands. "How about if we fix dinner for you?" Bakura whines, eyes dark at the scene in the other chair. Ryou sighs. "Okay. I'll get dinner ready. Wash your hands when you're done." He kisses Bakura as he gets to his feet. "You owe me." His former Ring spirit nods, beaming, already slipping over to kneel between Marik's feet. Ryou shakes his head, turning music on his phone as he heads to the kitchen, drowning out the sounds of zippers and soft moans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "All or Nothing" by Dirty Vegas.
> 
> Sorry for the super short chapter! Necroshipping next chapter to make up for it.


	27. Chapter 27

"I'll be days getting this sand out of my hair again." Bakura complains to distract himself from the surrounding darkness, clutching his flashlight and fingering the spare around his neck. Another flashlight is tucked into his jeans as well as a lighter. He hates being back in the dark tunnels but there was no way he'd let Ryou do this with only Ishtar to help. Besides, they had started it in a way, the day they took the gold from the dead Ishtar patriarch. "Were we all this dirty all the time when we were down here?"

Ishtar snorts behind him. "You were. And quit bitching. You look better disheveled anyways." Ishtar doesn't mind being back, his only attachments to the place the memories of their time together. Of taking Ryou's virginity in the library. Of breakfasts arguing over the last bit of coffee. Sunrises and sunsets standing by the entrance, basking in the light. Tying Bakura up and making him feel something after the Shadow Realm. Being useful and not a burden for once. The first time Marik kissed him. His dreams still came, the lion tamed by the mouse and eagle, watching the wisps of shadows cling to the unicorn's hooves and his paw prints as though bored by the whole affair.

His _fa’r_ marches on ahead of them, shifting the backpack to his other side, light bouncing as he did. He clicks his tongue. "He's right, 'Kura. You look better dirty." Ryou's hair barely reaches his shoulders now, the layers sticking up in various angles courtesy of a quick tumble with Marik before they left that morning. Marik had groused about being late for work, but he hadn't seemed to mind once Ryou’s lips were wrapped around his dick. He’d even returned the favor, working three fingers into Ryou’s ass before making him cum. "But you're right too. I'll be happy to get back to civilization and greenery once we're done." He turns into the lower tunnels, the musty smell of being underground getting stronger the deeper they walked.

Bakura hurries his steps to catch up to Ryou, threading their fingers together. "Are you sure about this?" He eyes the bag. "We could keep the Rod and Marik wouldn't have to know."

"I'd know," Ryou answers with a squeeze of his fingers. "I promised him I'd do this. Can you think of a better place?" Bakura doesn't have an answer for that and Ishtar doesn't offer any other suggestions. "Anyone who knows about the tombs respects them too much to disturb them."

"Except for us," says Ishtar.

"Except us." Ryou nods. "Though that's really only your dad, _asadi_. I wouldn't bother any other graves." A few more turns and they'll reach the Ishtar crypt. Bakura wants to wipe the sweat away from his temples but then he would either lose the light or let go of Ryou's hand and he refuses to do either.

Ishtar's steps slow, lagging behind them the closer they get. " _Fa’r_?" He stops completely, Ryou and Bakura turning back to him. Bakura shivers at Ishtar's barely visible outline, reminded of all the times he thought he saw shapes in the shadows. "Put it with _um_. Don't put it with that bastard. He didn't deserve it in life and he shouldn't have it now." Bakura and Ryou exchange a look, Ishtar moving towards them once more. "Ishizu and Odion say she was good. She should protect it for eternity."

The answer surprises them, not having known Ishtar had been talking to his siblings about their family or their past. Ryou wriggles his hand from Bakura's, not surprised when he feels a tug on his shirt as Bakura's fingers find a new place to cling, brushing his hand over the gold at Ishtar's wrist. With Marik's help, he had adorned himself with all the trappings of the head of the tombkeeper clan, though only the earrings were original. "Are you sure? We would have to open her sarcophagus. We might not believe but your mum did."

He can't answer, so Bakura does. "I think she would understand. If it spares her children from the temptation of the Items, I think her _akh_ would be okay with it." He wrinkles his nose and stares blankly at the wall. "A good mother protects her children. Even if it means sacrificing herself." He shakes his head, platinum hair covering his eyes. Ryou pockets his flashlight, the beam hitting the ceiling.

"'Kura? 'Kura, do you remember something about your past?" He lays his hand on Bakura's shoulder, brow creased in worry.

Bakura sniffs and pivots on his heel, heading down the tunnel. "Come on. I want to get home and shower." Ishtar shrugs at Ryou, holding hands as they follow behind. Bakura is working to light a second wall torch when they reach the crypt, flickering warm light chasing away the dark. "Which one is hers?"

The Brit moves closer, avoiding the one he knows is their father. Ishtar stays close to Bakura as Ryou looks around, slinging his arm over his shoulder, fingers burrowing into his hair and tugging. No words pass between them but Bakura finally sighs and relaxes against Ishtar's side. Ishtar strokes his hair, pulling a few more times, ensuring Bakura stays in the moment and calm.

"This should be it," Ryou says, leaning over an inscription slab. "The date matches..." He hesitates, adding softly, "It matches Marik's birthday." He sets the backpack down, pulling out the crowbar as Bakura comes to him, Ishtar hanging back by the wall. They work as quietly as they can, avoiding words as the stone slides away from the sarcophagus and then as they reach as one in to lift away the wooden lid of the casket. Ryou's eyes dart to Ishtar. "Do you want to see her?"

He doesn't, or he doesn't think he does, but then Ishtar's never thought about it. Yet he finds himself closing the distance slowly, more curious than reluctant. Bakura and Ryou move aside for him, bracketing him as Ishtar leans forward. Long black hair, like Ishizu's, lays perfectly arranged over her shoulders, peeking out from the edges of a cotton hood. Her skin is dried out, sallow, but she looks more like she's sick and asleep than very, very dead. Ishtar swallows thickly, unfamiliar tears clouding his sight. "I've never seen our _um_. Marik didn't remember what she looked like." He pushes the heels of his palms into his eyes. "I can't tell him about this, can I?"

Ryou's heart aches for his lover and he wraps his arms around his waist. "He didn't want to know where we put the Rod. If you tell him, he'd know." His lip quivers, the moment dredging up memories of his own mother. "I'm so sorry, _asadi_."  
  
Bakura kneels and carefully takes the Rod from Ryou's bag, offering it to Ishtar. "You should be the one to put it with her." Ishtar stares at the Rod for several moments, hands trembling as he takes it, Bakura gently pulling Ryou away to give him space. Ishtar's amethyst eyes slide from the Rod to his mother's corpse. He wants to keep it. He wants to embrace the shadows teasing his awareness. More than anything, he wants to destroy everything beautiful in his sorrow for a mother he'd never known.

And then behind him, he hears a quiet sniffling and murmured words. He looks away from his mother, from the Rod, to see Bakura comforting Ryou, Ryou who looks back at him, eyes red and glassy, nonetheless filled with trust and love, Bakura who nods encouragingly, knowing the temptation intimately, surviving millennia but losing everything he'd ever known before giving in. Ishtar breathes in deeply, edging away from the darkness, leaning down to tenderly place the Rod under his mother's hands. His lips brush her forehead once, a son's affection that they never got to give her, offering prayers to Osiris, Anubis, and Nephthys in his mother's name. He straightens, stepping back for Bakura and Ryou to silently close the casket and the sarcophagus, waiting as they join him. The three of them stand before the tomb, paying their respects for several minutes.

Ishtar finally breaks the silence. "I need a distraction."

Bakura arches a brow without looking at him. "We could always fuck on your father's sarcophagus." Ryou gasps, scandalized, and they both look at him incredulously. "Don't tell me you suddenly have some moral objection to being a sexual deviant on someone's grave? Getting reamed out in a cemetery was one of your top fantasies when you were a teen."

Color suffuses Ryou's face, mumbling something about it being rude to share people's private thoughts. He squeaks as Ishtar picks him up, carrying him to the tomb Bakura has moved to lounge on. Ishtar sets him on the edge, pinning him between them, Ryou cursing that his shorter hair gives them access to his ears and neck. He tries to suppress a moan, but a nip from Bakura frees it, the noise loud in the crypt. "We shouldn't..."

"No, sir," Ishtar teases him, catching his chin. "We shouldn't." Ryou feels the smirk against his lips as Ishtar kisses him, lips parting for his tongue as Bakura sucks a spot behind his ear. The khakis he'd borrowed from Marik that morning had seemed baggy, but now the zipper presses uncomfortably against his briefs covering the hardening line of his cock. Ishtar shifted, one knee on the sarcophagus, the other foot planted on the floor, making Ryou lift his face to continue to kiss, their tongues rolling together. Bakura's hands roam over his chest and stomach, toying with the waistband of Ryou's pants, teasing as he moves his touch lower, cupping his length through the fabric.

"Still objecting?" Bakura purrs in his ear and Ryou moans against Ishtar's lips, lifting his hips to grind into Bakura's palm. "Didn't think so."

Ryou pushes away from Ishtar, panting, eyes dark. "I... Marik and I... this morning." He swallows and tries to find his words through the fog of lust. "No lube." He whimpers needily as Ishtar tugs his hair, forcing him to look up, Bakura mirroring the motion as well, two sets of brown eyes, hazy with desire, on Ishtar.

"I'm sure we can think of something." Ishtar caresses Bakura's cheek with his free hand, pleased when he leans into the touch. He relaxes his hold on his hair enough to let Ryou's head drop forward, the bulge in his pants at eye level. Bakura chuckles at the obviousness, nibbling Ryou's neck as he paws at the front of Ryou's borrowed khakis. Ryou's eyes slip closed, trying to resist them a moment longer, finally giving in, nimble fingers working the front of Ishtar's pants open, grinning lazily when he feels bare skin. Ryou slowly strokes Ishtar’s filling shaft and tilts his head as Bakura steals a kiss before settling on the ground between Ryou's feet. He sighs in relief as Bakura gets his pants open, the lack of constriction letting his cock harden completely. Bakura's hand slides over his dick, mimicking Ryou's motion on Ishtar's. If Ryou stops, Bakura stops; he thumbs the slit as Ryou does, and Ryou shudders, knowing how quickly they'll have him undone.

He licks his lips, Ishtar’s hand on the back of his head encouraging Ryou closer, knees spreading wider as he mouths the tip of Ishtar’s cock, feeling Bakura do the same to his. Ryou’s tongue circles the head and Bakura copies him, matching each lick, each slide of his lips, until Ryou groans, bucking into Bakura’s mouth and swallowing Ishtar to the base. Ishtar curses but Bakura can only grunt, taking Ryou until his throat contracts. Ryou doesn’t shy away from sucking Ishtar, moaning in delight when the first taste of precum hits his tongue, holding Bakura’s head in place and grinding against his lips. Ishtar’s fingers in his hair tighten, rocking into Ryou’s wet mouth, while Bakura’s hands only leave his thighs for a moment, wrenching his own jeans open and fisting his cock.

Ishtar watches them from under his lashes, Bakura’s silver hair bent over Ryou’s lap, Ryou’s fairer hair tangled in his hand as Ryou bobs his head, lips stretched around his cock. It’s a beautiful sight and he tugs Ryou’s head back gently, swiping his tip over his swollen lips, watching as Bakura realizes the change and does the same with Ryou’s cock. Bakura squeezes the base of his shaft, whining at the taste of Ryou, at the sight of him sucking off Ishtar. Yes, they’re all sex fiends, but they’re the closest thing Bakura has had to family in millennia and he would never give them up. His lashes flutter, wanting to lose himself in the blowjob, picking up the wet little sucking kisses Ryou is placing on Ishtar’s tip several seconds after. Ryou lets his mouth fall open, cheeks flushed as he allows drool to dampen his chin, Ishtar jacking himself against his tongue, moaning as he feels Bakura do likewise against his own tongue. Ryou feels decadent, like they’re on an altar rather than a grave, making an offering to a goddess, lost in the pleasure of their own bodies.

Bakura grunts, sealing his lips around Ryou as he loses his rhythm, cum spurting against the side of the sarcophagus. The pressure of Bakura’s sucking tips Ryou over the edge, thrusting up and cumming over his tongue with a choked cry. Ishtar strokes Ryou’s hair, driving his head up and down faster, until he groans, hunching over Ryou as he fills his mouth. It’s more than Ryou expected, sputtering as he swallows, wiping his mouth and chin with the back of his hand. Bakura pulls away with less drama, laying his head on Ryou’s leg to catch his breath. Only Ishtar seems fine, helping Ryou stay upright and putting their clothing back to rights.

“Sorry,” Bakura murmurs, feeling like he could lie down and nap. “Guess I hit your dad’s grave.”

Ishtar shrugs, working saliva into his mouth and spitting on the stone. “Fuck him. Let’s get out of here. I’ve half a mind to fuck Marik into his bed.”

Ryou catches Bakura’s quiet whining, looking down at his former Ring spirit. “Bakura? You and Marik have fucked, right?” Bakura averts his eyes, color rushing back to his face. “Right?! So we can finally fuck you?” He doesn’t answer. “…Marik wouldn’t bugger me this morning. Have you two still not…?” Ever so slightly that Ryou might have missed it had Bakura’s head not been against his leg, Bakura shakes his head.

“Bakuraaaaaa!” Ishtar and Ryou whine in unison.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Eminem's "Cinderella Man".


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally.

"Where are you going?" Bakura looks up from his game at Ishtar. He's dressed to go out, kohl lining his eyes, Marik's work. Though given the cursing Bakura had heard coming from the bathroom, makeup wasn't the only thing they'd been doing. He'd figured they'd gotten in the shower after, but apparently only Marik was in there.

Ishtar drops something on Bakura's lap, making him jump and stare at the object in its clear plastic packaging. "Meeting Ryou after his class and we're going out. Don't wait up." He bends over Bakura, waiting until he could draw his eyes from the new butt plug between his thighs. "Ryou picked it out. A gift from us. Use lots of lube and put it in beforehand. Makes it easier."

The former spirit swallows thickly, flicking his eyes to the plug and back to Ishtar. "...makes what easier?"

The other man grins. "Taking _nafsi_ 's cock." He kisses Bakura's flaming cheek, voice low though Marik wouldn't hear them over the shower regardless. "I didn't let him cum. He's going to be climbing the walls in frustration. You should be ready." Bakura's eyes go to the bathroom door, a needy whimper escaping him. Ishtar kisses his forehead and straightens. "Have fun, _djinni_." Bakura can only stare at the plug, the shutting of the front door only vaguely registering with him.

"What's that?" Bakura startles, scrambling to hide the toy behind him. He hadn't heard the shower turn off or noticed Marik, still damp with a towel around his waist, standing before him.

"Nothing. Nothing," he stammers. "Just a... It's for me, so don't worry about it." Marik gives him a strange look and Bakura growls. "I need to get a shower. Thought you were going to be in there the rest of the day." Wrapping the plug in his shirt to hide it, he pushes by Marik who grabs his arm.

"Hey! What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Marik is still tense, even after his shower, and a part of Bakura wants to stop and take care of him. He even takes a step closer until the package in his arms shifts and he freezes, face red. "I... I need a shower." He breaks free of the hold and practically runs to the bathroom.

"Ass," Marik grumbles, falling back onto the sofa, idly watching the hold screen on Bakura's game. He'd hoped to get some relief, maybe at least get a blowjob, but instead he lay restlessly on the sofa, arousal still thrumming lowly in his veins. Ishtar had brought him to the edge several times and each time, left him right there. No amount of cussing or hair pulling could get Ishtar to let him cum. He could have taken care of himself in the shower, but if Ishtar wouldn't finish him off, Bakura would. Or he'd thought so. His fingers brush over his stomach, balls aching, but the sound of the shower turning on distracts him. He could wait.

Bakura scrubs every inch of himself and then scrubs every inch again until his skin was pink. He's supposed to... His eyes flick to the plug on the counter, the lube sitting next to it. He had gotten that far and chickened out. It didn't look that big, narrow at the top and thicker at the base, but Bakura clenches up all the same. He washes his hair and berates himself for being a coward. Each time Marik and he were intimate, they would get closer to penetration but neither could cross that line. Maybe, he muses, the push from Ryou and Ishtar is what they need. The memory of the morning pops into his head, waking up with Marik between his legs. Bakura had almost been ready then, almost begged for it, but instead he took the first chance he could to slip out of bed. Running away. Cursing himself, he reaches over for the toy and the bottle.

The blonde had been half-heartedly playing Bakura's video game to occupy himself, still wrapped in his towel when he sees Bakura walking slowly out of the bathroom to their bedroom. His brow creases, setting the controller aside and following him. He finds Bakura standing before their bed naked, not acknowledging Marik when he enters. "Bakura? Hey, I'm sorry for grabbing you earlier. I was-"

"I'm scared."

His apology fades to nothing with Bakura's admission, stepping nearer. "Scared? Why are you scared?"

"Doing this," Bakura gestures to their bed. "With you. It means I'm really human. That I'm not immortal or evil or controlled by something that is. That I..." He turns his head to glance at Marik over his shoulder. "I want to, but I'm scared."

Marik closes the distance between them, hands light on Bakura's arms. He kisses his shoulder, murmuring against his skin. "Want to what?"

The former spirit makes a distressed noise. "I want you. I've wanted you since Battle City." Marik takes his shoulders and turns him so they face each other. "But there wasn't time and I couldn't use Ryou's body like that and you were just a kid and..." Marik's hands pet over his skin, soothing him, and Bakura feels some of the worry drain away. "I want you, but I'm scared," he whispers.

A smile plays at the corner of Marik's mouth. So that's the hold-up. He kisses Bakura tenderly, pulling back to drop the towel from his hips. It has the intended reaction, Bakura swaying slightly, eyes darkening at the sight of Marik naked. Pale fingers reach for him and Marik slips into his grasp, pressing them together. "I'm scared too, but I decided a long time ago that I wouldn't let fear control me." He dips his head to mouth at Bakura's neck and jaw, sighing as Bakura melts against him. "You showed me how to be brave when you faced Ra to save me. You'll always be the strongest person I know for that." He lifts his head, guiding Bakura back to the bed. "And I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm not a kid anymore."

It breaks through his nerves, Bakura chuckling as he lowers himself to the bed. The plug shifts inside him and he leans in to kiss Marik's hips to make himself forget about it. Marik's fingers slide through Bakura's hair, eyes going heavy lidded as Bakura strokes and licks him to full hardness. He catches Bakura's chin, lifting his face. He's flushed, lips wet, his own cock erect. He looks like everything Marik has ever wanted. "Are you sure you're ready?"

Bakura swallows. "Yeah." He scoots himself back onto the bed, spreading himself wide and holding out his hands for Marik. "Yeah, I'm ready."

Marik tips his head to the side, eyes catching something he wasn't expecting. "What..." His eyes narrow as he crawls up between Bakura's legs. "Are you wearing a plug?"

He squirms, trying to close his legs but Marik holds his knees apart. "They got it for me, okay? Said it would make this easier." He presses his burning cheek into the sheets, unable to look at Marik looking at his ass.

A squeak sneaks past his lips when Marik drags a fingertip over it. "This is what you were hiding from me earlier." He shakes his head with a soft smile, fingers slipping over Bakura's balls and up his shaft. "Does it feel good?"

He curls his hand around Bakura's dick, sliding it up and down. "Yeah..." He lifts his eyes to Marik's, heart pounding. He feels stretched but in a good way and full, only not as full as he knows he could be. Teeth teasing his lip, he spreads his legs wider, seeing the color creep over Marik's cheeks as he watches. "Yeah it does." Bakura grabs their lube off the nightstand, squirting some into his palm and Marik's. The slickness added to Marik's movements has Bakura arching, fisting Marik's cock to smear the lube over his heated skin.  
  
Marik hisses, falling forward and catching himself over Bakura's chest. "I'll... Nn..."  
  
Bakura lets him go, eyes widening as Marik drips onto his stomach. He's so hard, Bakura can see him twitching with his pulse. And he wants him. More than he's scared, he wants Marik inside him. He grits his teeth and reaches between them to pull out the plug, dropping it to the floor. He moves farther up the bed, taking Marik in hand and guiding him to his slick and open ass.

As Marik slides fully into Bakura, they pant against each other's mouths, Bakura's hands cupping Marik's face. Neither dare move, caught up in the feeling of finally being joined together. Marik steals breathless kisses from Bakura's lips, staring at him. "...are you okay?" Bakura closes his eyes and nods, bending his knees so Marik can settle completely into his hips. "Bakura? You're crying."

"Damnit, I know," he mumbles, wiping his eyes. "It's just..." He looks up, eyes soft and wanting. "Make love to me." Marik's breath hitches and Bakura loops his arms over his shoulders and pulls him down for a kiss. They move together slowly, Bakura sucking on Marik's lower lip, each slide easier than the last until Marik rocks into him smoothly.

"Gods..." Marik dips his head, sighing against Bakura's neck. There's a part of him that would dearly love to go faster, to fuck Bakura into the bed, but this, their first time, he takes it slow, each roll of his hips careful.  
  
Bakura presses his head back into the pillows, offering himself completely to Marik, hooking a leg over his hip. It's better than he had ever fantasized about during Battle City, Marik fitting into him wonderfully. He moans as Marik nips and kisses his way along his chest and shoulder, back bowing off the bed. Before long, they're both gasping for air, sweat glazing their skin, lips swollen from their kisses, splotches and light bruises covering their skin. Bakura grasps Marik's ass, squeezing and pulling him deeper, muscles clinging around his shaft.

Marik groans, Ishtar's edge play burning through him. He drops to his elbow, reaching a hand between them and jacking Bakura's slick cock. "Need you to cum." Bakura trembles under him. "Cum for me, Bakura." Bakura whines, fingers digging into Marik's ass, bucking into his hand and down onto his cock. Marik pounds into him harder, squeezing on the upstroke, until Bakura breaks, crying out Marik's name as he cums over himself and Marik's hand.

His muscles flutter around Marik, making the blonde ache with need. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK!" He thrusts as deep as he can, grinding against Bakura as he falls over the edge finally, pumping hot cum into him until his balls are completely drained. His arm gives out, dropping him down on Bakura, shivering, dick giving a few last twitches. Bakura wraps his arms around him, petting through Marik's hair, murmuring endearments in his ear. Once his heart stops rioting in his chest, Marik lifts his face, dragging his lips against Bakura's. "I love you."

Bakura grins, rubbing their noses together. "I love you. Even if you do need another shower."  


* * *

 

"Fucking finally," Ishtar mumbles, leaning against the doorjamb, watching as Ryou pulls a sheet up over where Marik and Bakura lay tangled up, still naked. "Didn't think they would actually do it."

"Shush." Ryou leans over to kiss their foreheads. "Bakura's never done anything quickly and Marik wasn't going to ask for more." He smiles and threads their fingers together, pulling him to their room. "Thank you for helping them, _asadi_."

He shrugs, shutting their bedroom door behind them. "Are you going to tell them about your father?"

"Tomorrow." Ryou unbuttons his shirt and lets it fall to the floor, slinking up to Ishtar. "Let them have tonight." He tugs his belt open, pushing his pants and boxers to the floor, standing bare before him. A smirk teases his mouth as he stretches up and loops his arms around Ishtar's neck. "Now, I think someone promised at dinner to ravish me when we got home." His delighted giggle rings out, clinging as Ishtar scoops him up to carry him to bed.


	29. Chapter 29

"No. Absolutely not. Fuck no." Bakura jumps up from the sofa, glaring and pointing at Ryou. Unlike last time, Ryou doesn't shrink back into his chair now, meeting Bakura's anger. "What the fuck are you even thinking? And you!" He wheels on Ishtar who arches a brow at him. "You're okay with this?! What the bloody hell are _you_ thinking?"

Ishtar doesn't move though the muscles in his arms twitch, ready to hold Bakura back. "I'm thinking that this is a great opportunity for Ryou and he deserves to take it."

"It's not like before," Ryou offers. "We can email and call and Skype. We can even still game together." Bakura frowns and crosses his arms over his chest with a doubtful huff. "'Kura, you know how much this means to me." Ryou's eyes flick to Marik as he rises from the sofa and walks to the balcony window. "Cairo has been wonderful for my education, but if I want to further my career, I have to take this job."

His father's call had been completely unexpected yesterday. A permanent job in the British Museum’s Department of Ancient Egypt and Sudan working as a registrar opened up and his dad had submitted Ryou’s résumé for him. It was an entry level position but still would pay more than he was receiving in his current stipend. Ryou couldn’t resist the chance even if it meant leaving Egypt, meant leaving Bakura and Marik.

"This is your fault!" Bakura snaps at Marik's back, choosing a new target for his hurt-driven rant. "If you hadn't thrown away all your money, he wouldn't have to leave us!" Ryou makes a soft noise in protest and Marik turns to Bakura, eyes cold. Bakura recoils from that look and falls silent.

"Don't take your damn anger out on me!” he snaps back. Marik's hands curl into fists by his hips, body tense.  “And why did I go broke? Hm? Because I love you and wanted to bring you back. I didn't mean to fall in love with Ryou too or bring back Ishtar, but I did. We did. I don't want him to go either, but for fuck's sake!" Marik's fingers rake through his hair, trying to calm himself, a hitch in his breathing betraying his emotions. "I was kept in that damn tomb until…” His eyes drift to Ishtar with a sigh. “I'm not going to keep anyone else somewhere they don't want to be."

Bakura gives Marik a baleful look, feeling the frustration drain out, folding to the floor at Ryou's feet. "This is leaving for real this time. Before, you were coming back. You came back. Now..." He rests his head against Ryou's knee, letting him pet through his hair.

"I need to go. Dad didn't know; he thought he was helping me. And he is, 'Kura." He tugs on Bakura’s platinum hair, making him look up. “I need to put myself first and do this. Ever since Mum died, I’ve put my own needs aside. Then you came into my life.” He stroked along Bakura’s jawline. “You’ve made me strong enough to do this, to leave. I love you, ‘Kura. That’s not going to stop when I’m in England.” He folded down, kissing his forehead. “Death didn’t stop me loving you. I don’t think anything will.”

Ishtar slips out of his chair at the first tremble of Bakura’s shoulders, leaving him to cry in Ryou’s lap. He moves over to Marik, keeping his voice low. “Are you going to cry too?” Marik braces his hands on the windowsill and shakes his head. They stand side-by-side with only Ryou’s soft murmurs and Bakura’s shaky breathing breaking the silence. Ishtar bumps his hip into Marik and leans back against the sill and waits.

“You’re going with him.” Marik doesn’t need to question it. If Ryou’s leaving, of course Ishtar would follow. He would do the same with Bakura. Ishtar doesn’t look away, doesn’t try to explain or comfort. He simply stands there at Marik’s side like he’s always been. “Good. Ryou shouldn’t be alone anymore. You need to get out too. Get away from all this. See the world. On your own. With Ryou. I-”

His former shadow self cups the back of Marik’s neck and pulls him in for a kiss before he can get into a true ramble. Ishtar keeps the kiss slow, lingering swipes of his tongue over Marik’s lips until he feels Marik melt into him. Given the hush that fills the room, Ishtar suspects Ryou and Bakura are doing the same. Marik pulls away first, head falling forward. “I’m going to miss you.”

“I know, _nafsi_.” He rubs Marik’s neck, holding him against his chest. “Will _akh_ be upset with you? When I leave, you’ll be down a bodyguard.” Not that Marik needed both Ishtar and Bakura for security, but it had made a few tasks easier. And Ishtar didn’t want to admit how much he enjoyed terrorizing those who insulted Marik with Bakura. He had even been adjusting to using shadow magic again, at least to block their activities from prying eyes. Ishtar would, however, worry more to not be able to protect Marik himself.

The other man shrugs and gives him a cocky grin. “As though anyone would try to fuck with me now. Everyone’s pissing themselves in fear for the two ghosts that follow me around.” He presses his palm over Ishtar’s chest. “When will you go?”

Ryou clears his throat behind Marik. Bakura stands glued to his side, still sniffling, Ryou’s arm around his waist. “After the end of the semester. I’ve already paid so they agreed to let me start when I’m done exams. We’ll have a few more months here.” His chocolate eyes water though he keeps a smile on his face.

Marik draws Ishtar with him, closer to Ryou and Bakura. The four of them press together and Marik wipes an errant tear from Ryou’s cheek. “Then we’ll make the time we have memorable.”

 

* * *

The bike bounces over the rough road, Ishtar’s hands tightening on Marik’s hips. The weeks before Ryou and Ishtar move are flying by and Bakura looked ready to slice someone if he didn’t get alone time with Ryou. The blondes had left with a laugh, Ryou getting pounced before the door shut. They didn’t have a destination planned. Marik had navigated them out of the city and beyond Giza, down to Memphis. They circled back to the museum, parking the motorcycle, and walking together.

Anyone noticing them would have thought they were twins and if Ishtar’s fingers linger on Marik’s waist or Marik tangles his fingers with Ishtar’s, no one pays them much attention. Marik keeps them a long time at the colossus of Rameses II while Ishtar winds them quietly through the gardens. The sun dips to the horizon as they pad back to the bike. Ishtar props his hip against the machine. “All the shit we were made to learn and there was all this other history we were never taught.”

Marik grins lopsidedly, the time with Ishtar and in the museum relaxing him. “We had to remember what everyone else forgot.” He picks up his helmet and wipes at the visor.

“It doesn’t bother you?” Ishtar tosses the keys into the air, catching them with a snap of his hand. “That we were denied our childhood. That our entire history was pretty useless. That we’re left with these scars?”

The other shrugs and hands Ishtar his helmet. “My scars always bother me. But without them, we wouldn’t have you. I wouldn’t have you.” His fingers light on Ishtar’s arm, squeezing the muscle, and he wishes he could kiss him right now. “Let’s go home. You can drive.”

Ishtar chuckles. “In a hurry then?” Their helmets cover their hair and Marik climbs up after Ishtar, maybe sitting a little too close though Ishtar doesn’t complain. His hands curl over Ishtar’s stomach before sliding back properly to his hips as the engine awakens between their legs. As much as Marik loves driving, he enjoys riding behind Ishtar, their bodies flowing with the movement of the motorcycle, wind snatching at their clothes and hair. It was the closest, he thought, that they could get to being one again. Well, except for when they fucked. His cheeks heat, fingers clinging. Ishtar accelerates to a turn-off, guiding them to a less-traveled road. Marik is about to question it as Ishtar turns off the bike, pulling off his helmet as Ishtar swings his leg off the bike, his helmet dropping into the dirt.

Marik’s helmet joins it as he’s grabbed off the motorcycle, stumbling into Ishtar’s chest. He doesn’t get a chance to ask what Ishtar is doing before warm lips cover his own. Ishtar’s kiss is possessive, demanding, and a soft noise slips from Marik as he presses into it. His fingers hook into Ishtar’s jacket, Ishtar’s wandering to push Marik’s shirt up, dragging over his abdomen. He groans, forcing Marik to tip his head back as he mouths at his throat. Marik arches and grinds their hips together, their khakis doing little to hide their growing erections. His eyes roll back and for a moment, he forgets that they’re on the side of the road and how dangerous this is.

Thankfully, Ishtar remembers, pulling away with a nip to Marik’s throat. “I needed to do that.” He rubs his thumb over Marik’s swollen, parted lips. “You needed it too.” Marik blinks slowly, still half lost in a fog of lust. Ishtar sighs with a little smile. “I love you, _nafsi_.”

“I love you,” Marik murmurs in reply, leaning in for one more kiss that lasts a bit too long.

 

* * *

"You slept with Ryou last night!”

“And I intend to sleep with Ryou every night until they leave!”

“Please don’t fight…”

“Why aren’t either of you assholes fighting over me?”

Ishtar’s question is met with a lap full of Ryou. “Because they know you’ll fuck them both the morning we leave. Probably at the same time. In the shower.” He giggles when Ishtar can only grunt because they both know it’s true. Ryou lays his head on Ishtar’s shoulder, watching Marik and Bakura square off. “Why don’t we have a foursome?”

The question seems innocent enough and it catches Bakura and Marik off-guard. They both turn to Ryou, surprise on both their faces. Ishtar hums, chest rumbling against Ryou’s shoulder. “Do you want to, _fa’r_?”

Ryou slips to his feet in answer. His shoulder-length hair falls around his face as his shirt comes off, dropping it to the floor. His fingers hook into his jeans, deliberately popping the button with a slow flick of his thumb. “ _Asadi_. Marik. Take the mattresses into the spare room. Bakura.” He hooks his finger as the former spirit. “Come here.”

The blondes hurry to prep the room, Ishtar’s soft “yes, sir” making Ryou purr as Bakura slinks closer. Ryou’s delicate hands sweep under Bakura’s shirt, pushing it up and over his head to join Ryou’s on the floor. Bakura’s fingers tug Ryou’s zipper down, looking for permission before pushing the clothing from his hips, following it to the floor with open-mouthed kisses down his body. Ryou cards through Bakura’s silvery hair, sighing when he nuzzles along the v of his hip. He kisses his tip, encouraging Ryou’s erection, closing his lips over the slit, tongue pressing against it. Ryou rolls his hips, making Bakura’s mouth open more to take Ryou, long languid pulls, neither in any rush.

Ryou closes his eyes, savoring the wet heat of Bakura’s mouth, only opening them when the sensation stops. Marik and Ishtar stand at the edge of the room, naked and hard. Ryou reaches to help Bakura help, leading him to the others. Ryou’s touch ghosts over Ishtar’s chest as Ryou goes to Marik. He’ll have Ishtar all he wants when they’re in London. As his lips crash against Marik’s, he thinks of their first kisses, tentative and broken. Through trying to save the one they both loved, they fell in love. Ryou pushes his tongue into Marik’s mouth, all his gratitude and affection in the action, memorizing his taste until they both break apart, gasping for air.

Next to them, Ishtar presses Bakura into the wall, pulling his thigh up around his hip, Bakura’s neck peppered with red splotches, his pants gone. Ryou taps Ishtar’s shoulder as he and Marik slip by into the bedroom, the other two following. Marik lifts Ryou’s hair away from his neck, nibbling gently on the sensitive skin, eyes dark as Bakura steps closer, catching Ryou’s lips in a needy kiss, moaning as Ishtar’s mouth locks onto his throat, sucking a dark bruise into his skin.

Bakura folds first, the bruises over his neck making his knees weak, sinking to the mattresses. He draws Ryou down with him, tangling up and kissing him reverently. He doesn’t move away even when their hips are pressed back into the bed, legs pried open. Bakura simply gasps into Ryou’s mouth, inhaling Ryou’s echoing one as cold lube smears between their legs and hot mouths close over their cocks. They rock together, getting lost in their kisses and the blowjobs and the fingering until Bakura squirms free, grabbing the base of his dick to keep himself from cumming already.

Marik chuckles from between Ryou’s legs. “Maybe we should get started? I-” He squeaks as lube-slicked fingers slip up his ass, glaring over his shoulder at Ishtar who only shrugs. He hooks his fingers, silencing any objections Marik might have had. Marik holds himself over Ryou, staring slack-jawed as Bakura repositions, legs splayed, three fingers buried in his own ass. Ryou props himself up to mouth along Marik’s jaw, a hint of teeth keeping him grounded as Ishtar preps him. “What…?”

Ryou’s breath tickles his ear and Marik feels Ryou’s lubed hand wrap around his shaft as he strokes them both. “We’re going to fuck him. While _asadi_ fucks you.” Ishtar adds a third finger to Marik and he feels like his mouth goes dry at the thought of fucking Bakura with Ryou. Ryou kisses his cheek sweetly. “Is that okay with you?” Marik looks from Ryou to Bakura who moans, eyes closing as precum drips down his cock. Marik swallows hard and nods.

Ishtar grabs his hips, moving Marik back for Bakura to straddle Ryou’s lap. Marik doesn’t try to stop his whine as he watches Ryou’s dick disappear into Bakura. They move slowly, Bakura’s body relaxing easily to take him, Ryou holding his hips. Bakura bends forward, waiting. With Ishtar’s gentle nudge, Marik guides the tip of his cock along Ryou’s shaft to press against Bakura’s stretched hole. Bakura bites his lip as he pushes back. Ryou clicks his tongue and Ishtar pours more lube over Marik’s cock, making Ryou and him hiss at the chill. It does the trick, the head of Marik’s cock popping past the tight ring of muscle. The three of them pant heavily, Marik and Ryou from the squeeze and the heat, Bakura from the stretch and the full feeling. Ishtar waits, rubbing Marik’s back, waiting until Bakura starts moving, each drop of his hips taking more of Ryou and Marik.

“Ready?” he asks against Marik’s shoulder. They pause and Ishtar leans back for Marik to sit on his cock. Marik trembles, fucking and being fucked at the same time, hips jerking forward into Bakura. Bakura pushes back with a happy sigh and soon they’re all moving together. It’s not a smooth fuck at all. Sweat breaks out over their skin, Bakura whimpering especially as Ryou strokes his dick. Marik stops moving as Bakura balances on Ryou’s chest, short bounces of his hips making Marik squirm on Ishtar’s cock. Ryou’s hand slaps over Bakura’s mouth, muting his shout as he orgasms, cum spraying Ryou’s stomach and chest.

Marik pulls out first, groaning as Ishtar’s dick twitches in him. Bakura flops over to the side and Ryou’s legs open for Marik. He tugs on Marik’s arm, pulling him down, kissing him hungrily as Marik’s cock slides into Ryou. Ishtar’s hips slam into Marik, thrusting him forward into Ryou. Marik braces his hands at Ryou’s shoulders, both of them relying on Ishtar to set the pace. Bakura’s hand wriggles between them to jerk Ryou, twisting enough to set him on edge. Bakura bites Ryou’s neck as he claws at the sheets, toes pointing, gasping for air until the pleasure breaks and Ryou adds to the mess Bakura left on his body. Marik grunts as Ryou’s muscles clamp down and Ishtar grinds against him. He has half a mind to protest but his eyes refocus to find Bakura and Ryou kissing below him, all open mouths and wet tongues. Bakura winks at Marik as he scoops cum off Ryou’s chest, sucking his fingers clean.

None of them catch Marik before he yells, knuckles white as he grips the mattress, pumping his cum so deep that Ryou writhes as cum leaks out of him. Marik’s arms tremble, almost giving out, but Ishtar curls an arm around his chest, holding him up. Ryou and Bakura make room for Marik as Ishtar pulls out and turns Marik onto his back, quickly thrusting back into his ass. Marik’s breathless moans fill the room, hands grasping at whatever bodies he can get a hold of, Ishtar fucking him into the mattresses, Ryou’s and Bakura’s lips and tongues trailing over his skin. Ishtar pushes himself to his feet, making Marik’s hips curl up, Ishtar’s hand braced on the wall. Bakura’s and Ryou’s hands stroke Ishtar’s arms and chest until he grits his teeth and finally bucks forward, unloading in Marik.

Sweat drips off him, muscles shaking with fatigue, and Ryou’s tender fingers guide him back before he collapses on them. He half lays over Marik’s legs, his head on Ryou’s hip, his own legs between Bakura’s. None of them can speak, piled up sweaty and sticky, breathing heavily. Ishtar succumbs to his exhaustion first, snoring softly on Ryou. Bakura isn’t too far behind, nestled in Marik’s neck. Ryou pets through Ishtar’s wild hair and props himself up on his elbow. “Thank you,” he murmurs, not wanting to wake the others.

“For?” Marik rolls his head to Ryou. His fingers thread together with Bakura’s, pulling their hands over his heart.

Ryou smiles at him and Marik realizes how much he’s going to miss seeing that every day. “We’re all here because of you. If you hadn’t wanted to bring ‘Kura back, if you hadn’t texted me… If you hadn’t cut your hand on the Rod, we wouldn’t be here. So, thank you.”

Marik’s hand slides into Ryou’s hair, cupping the back of his neck and pulling him down for a kiss. “I love you. Don’t ever forget that.”

Ryou brushes his nose against Marik’s and clenches his eyes shut against his tears. “I won’t. I love you, Marik.” They kiss softly until Ryou doesn’t feel like crying anymore, settling together with Marik’s cheek resting on top of Ryou’s head, following Bakura and Ishtar into sleep.

 

* * *

The lion in Ishtar’s dream carried the little mouse away, away from the unicorn and eagle, until they couldn’t be seen. When the lion roared across the dreamscape, he trusted they would still hear him. Small comforts are better than none.

 

* * *

Bakura’s attitude is only slightly better than the first time Ryou left them and that was primarily thanks to Ishtar wearing him out that morning. His fingers clench around the handle to Ryou’s bookbag, ignoring the people bustling around them, some running to catch flights, some saying goodbye like them. Ryou’s hand curls around his, thumb brushing over his wrist. “I’m going to need that.” He leans closer, their heads bent together. “Please, ‘Kura. I don’t want to cry again.” Bakura chokes back his own tears, releasing the bag into Ryou’s grip.

Ryou slings it over his shoulder and cups Bakura’s cheek, nosing his temple. He turns to Marik who opens his arms. Ryou steps into them, hugging him fiercely. Marik’s hand rests on Ryou’s head, voice low. “Take care of Ishtar. He needs you just as much.” Ryou nods and pulls away for Ishtar to take his place. Inspite of his words to Bakura, Ryou finds himself wiping away a few tears as he watches them say goodbye. Ishtar moves to Bakura and waits until he looks up. His eyes are watery and Ishtar circles his arms around Bakura, holding him until Bakura can pull himself together. When Bakura finally nods, Ishtar lets him go, standing with Ryou.

“We’ll let you know as soon as we land.” Ryou said all this a million times before they left the apartment, but he says it again. It’s better than saying goodbye.

Marik bumps into Bakura, hooking an arm over his shoulders, and giving Ryou and Ishtar a small grin. “We know. We’ll be up.”

“ _Fa’r_ , it’s time to go.” Ishtar tosses his travel bag onto his shoulder, linking his fingers with Ryou’s. They still need to check in for their flight and hope Ishtar’s forged documents pass inspection. Ryou nods, reluctant to even look away from Bakura and Marik. Ryou mouths “I love you” at them and lets himself be lead away before he can start crying again. He looks back once, waving at Marik and Bakura standing right where they left them until they’re hidden by the crowd.

Most would have said Ryou was going home. He would have said his home was wherever the four of them could be together. He squeezes Ishtar’s hand and feels a similar pressure around his fingers. “You dragged us out of the shadows. England doesn’t seem quite so far after that.”

Ryou half smiles. “No. No, I don’t suppose it does.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really recommend listening to Brandi Carlile's "Wherever is Your Heart" with this!
> 
> One more chapter until we're done! This turned into a much bigger endeavor than I anticipated. Thank you for sticking with me!


	30. Chapter 30

Ryou stares vacantly at his kettle as the water for his tea heats. The months since his return to London had gone slowly. He likes his life now, he does. Working at the museum is interesting and Ryou doesn’t go more than a few days without some new story to tell Ishtar when he comes home. He even made a few friends among his coworkers and thought about seeing if any of them would be interested in a RPG. Ishtar says Ryou seems more confident now, like he’d finally grown into himself. He certainly feels more comfortable in his skin. Ryou lifts his head as Ishtar comes into the kitchen, admiring him when he stretches and yawns before sinking into a chair at their little table. Life is pretty fantastic and it would be perfect if only...

His heart still aches to be separated from Marik and Bakura. They talk almost daily between social media and emails. Then there were the weekly Skype dates… Ryou shivers remembering the last one, wiping absently at a mess on his throat he washed away days ago.

"Your kettle's going off."

He jumps, hastening to turn it off. "Thanks." Ryou smiles over his shoulder at Ishtar and fixes their tea. "Feeling okay?"

Ishtar snorts, arms spread over the table, cheek resting on his bicep as he watches Ryou. He reminds Ryou of the sleepy lions in the zoo and it makes him smile more. "If you're asking if my ass is sore, no." Ryou arches a brow as he brings the mugs over to the table. "No, sir."

The Brit kisses his head before sitting next to him. "That was a lovely way to start my birthday,  _ asadi _ . Thank you." He blows on his tea. "What are the plans for the rest of the day?"

"Breakfast." Ishtar turns his mug around by the handle, waiting for it to cool. "Shower." He shrugs, but Ryou catches a devious glint in his eyes. "I'm sure I'll think of something."

"Hm, am I supposed to fix my own birthday breakfast?" He teases Ishtar from behind his cup.

Ishtar rubs a hand over his face. "Ugh, no... Let me wake up so I don't burn the place down."

They manage breakfast and a shower and another shower after the first one left them dirty again. Ryou fields calls from his father and his friends, laughing at Yugi's and Joey's antics on their video chat. He keeps checking his phone though, waiting for Bakura and Marik to call, looking up every time Ishtar's phone buzzes, thinking maybe they'd call on his phone. For some reason. Even though it's Ryou's birthday.

He wanders back from the store, his phone in his hand, Ishtar insisting he go restock the lube himself while Ishtar finishes one last surprise. Marik and Bakura wouldn't forget his birthday. Bakura couldn't. Marik might forget the date, but Bakura had lived with Ryou long enough that he'd remember it. But the day drags on without word from either of them and Ryou feels a little dejected by the time he gets back to the flat.

Before he can grasp the doorknob, the door swings open, Ishtar standing there with a duffel bag. "Right on time,  _ fa'r _ . Let's go." He swipes the shopping bag from Ryou, stuffing it in the duffel and taking his hand, pulling him back downstairs.

"Go where? What are we doing?" Ishtar merely grins and shakes his head and Ryou laughs, his worries forgotten for the moment as he hurries his steps to keep up with his taller boyfriend. He falls silent, shocked when Ishtar takes them to the Savoy, eye wide as they are whisked up to the suite. Ishtar shrugs when Ryou tries to question him. The most he gets from his boyfriend is that it’s Ryou’s birthday. He gives up pestering Ishtar for answers, content to admire the view while Ishtar orders room service for dinner. 

“Has this been a good birthday so far?” Ishtar smirks as he comes up behind Ryou, long arms draping over his shoulders. They watch as the sun sets over London, the lights of the city stretching out on the other side of the window.

Ryou tips his head back to kiss Ishtar’s cheek. “So far? Is there more?,” he teases. “It’s been a lovely day,  _ asadi _ . Thank you.”

Ishtar preens, pulling his phone out when it buzzes. “Ah, I’m going to unpack, I think.”

“I can help. You can’t have brought that much.”

He grins and taps Ryou’s nose. “Let me do this for you. You enjoy this,” he says, gesturing to the window. Ryou shakes his head, not arguing. If Ishtar wants to spoil him for his birthday, he’ll let him. He idly finger-brushes his hair, thoughts drifting. He hadn’t heard from Bakura yet and it pulled his features into a frown, hoping he was okay. It wasn’t like Bakura to not respond to Ryou. Marik hadn’t sent him a message at lunch either. “Um, Ishtar? Have you heard from Marik today?”

“Yeah?” Ishtar answers from the bedroom. “Why?” Ryou’s response gets cut off by a knock on their door. “That’s, um, room service. Can you get it,  _ fa’r _ ?”

“Sure.” Ryou is halfway across the room, hand on the door before Ishtar even finishes the question. He doesn’t think to check the peephole, simply pulling the door open with a bright grin. “Hi! Tha-...” Leaning against the doorframe are Bakura and Marik, causing the words to die on Ryou’s tongue. Bakura smirks at him, a bag slung over his shoulder.

“You didn’t think we’d forget your birthday, did you?” Bakura asks.

Marik swishes his hair over his shoulder and steps over the threshold, gently guiding a still speechless Ryou back. Bakura squeezes by them with Marik’s bag as well, nodding at Ishtar who’s propped against the wall with a grin. Ryou can only stare at them, mouth ajar. Marik’s touch on his face startles Ryou out of his trance. “Ryou?”

Tears fill Ryou’s eyes and their only warning is the shuddering breath he takes before he crumples to the ground. In an instant, they surround him, arms wrapped around him as he cries. “Y-you, you came! I th-ought you forgot, but y-you’re here. I… I…”

Warm hands cup his face, wiping away his tears, Marik’s forehead bumping against Ryou’s. So long ago, they were all each other had, working together to bring Bakura back, finding comfort in each other’s arms at night. “We could never forget you,” the Egyptian murmurs. “We wanted to surprise you.” He rubs their noses together, trying to get Ryou’s breathing to match his own to calm him. “I’m sorry for making you cry.”

Ryou’s arms encircle Marik’s neck. “Don’t. Don’t apologize.” He presses a kiss in Marik’s lips. “And don’t wake me if I’m dreaming. You’re here!”

Bakura chuckles against Ryou’s shoulder. “You’re not dreaming.” He sniffs, brushing away wetness from his own face. Discreet coughing makes them look up from their pile on the floor, the server there with a cart loaded with food. “On second thought, if you’re dreaming, I must be too so don’t wake me because this is great.”

Almost an hour later, they’re scattered among the living room, Ryou and Bakura picking at the last of the food together on the sofa. Marik lays on the floor, a hotel robe wrapped around him, feet propped on Ishtar’s knee where he sits in one of the chairs. Marik’s fingers trail lazily over Ryou’s ankle. “If I don’t get up, I won’t,” Marik declares though he makes no effort to leave the floor.

“If you don’t get up, you won’t get dessert.” Bakura flashes him a smile, pulling one last plate over. Marik and Ishtar groan and hold their stomachs, but Ryou leans closer. “Wonder what this could be,” Bakura teases.

Ryou gasps as the lid comes off. “Creampuffs!” He reaches for one, but Bakura pulls the plate away. Ryou pouts for a moment. “Oh!” He holds his mouth open, tongue lolling out. “Ah, ah!” It makes the others dissolve into laughter, Bakura feeding Ryou a pastry, sucking some errant filling off his thumb.

Marik and Ishtar exchange a look, Ishtar offering his hand to help Marik up, their bodies pressing together. “Why don’t we take the creampuffs to bed?” Marik suggests, Bakura’s and Ryou’s eyes widening as Ishtar and Marik kiss.

“Good idea,” Ishtar purrs, grinning as he steps closer to Bakura and the plate. “Come on, creampuff.” He scoops Bakura into his arms, the former spirit too busy trying to protect the dish to fight him off.

“You too, birthday boy.” Marik crooks his finger at Ryou who jumps into Marik’s arms, legs wrapped around his waist, kissing him as he’s trundled off to the bedroom.

“You’re the best birthday present,” Ryou murmurs as Marik sets him down. He tips his head back as Bakura kisses his neck. “You too.” Together, they get Ryou naked, their mouths trailing over his skin until he’s flushed, panting from the attention. Ishtar circles them, helping Marik and Bakura out of their clothes, a pile forming on the floor to which Ishtar adds his own clothes. 

Bakura guides Ryou back onto the bed, holding Ryou’s back to his chest. He draws a creampuff over Ryou’s lips, teasing, squeezing until the cream falls onto Ryou’s chest. Before he can squawk out a protest, Marik sucks up the mess, laying over one of Ryou’s legs. Bakura grabs another creampuff and repeats his mess, Ishtar this time licking the sweetness away. Ryou’s chest is sticky and wet by the time they use all the pastries, his ass rocking back against Bakura’s erection, his own bobbing helplessly against his abdomen.

“Please?” Ryou begs, squirming from Ishtar and Marik holding his legs open. “It’s my birthday!”

Three dark chuckles swarm around him. Marik settles between Ryou’s legs, kissing at his hips, holding his hand out for the lube from Ishtar. Two well-slicked fingers work into him and Ryou arches up, tossing his head back onto Bakura’s shoulder. Bakura cups his chin, pulling their faces together, kissing Ryou tenderly, until Ryou is panting into the kisses, writhing on Marik’s fingers.

Bakura tugs Ryou up, making Ryou straddle his hips as he guides his cock into Ryou’s heat. They both freeze, Ryou hooking an arm around Bakura’s neck as they stare into each other’s eyes, tears gathering along their lashes. Marik almost hates to intrude but he’s pushed forward with a grunt as Ishtar enters him, his nose brushing Ryou’s cock. Ryou shudders, clenching around Bakura, body stretched as Marik licks slowly up his length and around his tip, sucking his head between his lips.

It’s hard to establish a rhythm, Ishtar thrusting forward into Marik, pushing him to swallow more of Ryou’s cock, pushing Ryou down onto Bakura’s dick, Bakura’s answering thrust starting the process again, but they manage. Ryou’s free hand curls into Marik’s locks, looking from him to Ishtar who grins at him and back to Bakura. Ryou moans, pleasure burning through his veins, riding Bakura harder, penetrating Marik’s mouth deeper. The sharp drops of his hips have Bakura’s nails digging into Ryou’s skin, mumbling and hiding his face in Ryou’s hair as he cums.

Marik crawls up Ryou’s body, lifting his thigh over his arm, waiting as Bakura pulls out. Ryou loops his arms around Marik’s neck, nodding his consent, moaning as Marik’s length fills him, sliding into the mess Bakura left in him. Ishtar resettles behind Marik, letting him set the pace, hips slamming into Ryou. Bakura brushes their hair away from their sweaty faces, murmuring encouragement until Marik trembles, jaw tight as he drains himself into Ryou.

Ryou whines as Marik withdraws, his balls and cock aching with the need to cum. Bakura slips from behind Ryou, laying him out on the bed, hissing as Ryou scratches at him, trying to keep Bakura close. Ryou’s back arches off the bed as Ishtar’s thick cock pushes into him. It’s gentle, almost too much so, careful with Ryou’s used body. Ishtar stays on his knees, Ryou blinking up at him with unfocused eyes. Ishtar pulls Bakura and then Marik closer, guiding them to Ryou’s dripping cock, humming his approval as Bakura licks away the mess. Marik follows suit, wet sucking kisses up his length, meeting Bakura’s tongue at the tip, kissing his partner around their lover’s cock. Ryou squeezes around Ishtar, lost to the pleasure, head tossing back and forth over the pillows. His legs shake and Ishtar taps Bakura and Marik to stop. His fingers wrap around Ryou’s shaft, one long slow tug up, thumb pressing into the underside of his head. He cries out, body going rigid, cum spraying up to his chest, clutching at the bedding. Ishtar grinds into his ass, curling over Ryou as he finally cums as well.

Ryou’s still half floating in a well-fucked haze when he feels his lovers lick away the mess. He tries to lift his hands to stroke through their hair, but even that’s too much work. He falls to sleep with a soft smile on his face, surrounded by them, thinking this might be the best birthday ever.

Morning finds Ryou and Marik at the window, Ryou with his tea, Marik with his coffee, watching the sunrise and, at times, Bakura and Ishtar where they still lay asleep in the bed. Marik and Ryou are clean, wrapped in matching robes, though neither is fully awake yet, their fingers occasionally brushing together.

“I almost didn’t answer your text.” It’s a stupid thing to say, making no difference now, but the confession tumbles from Ryou. Marik only smirks into his coffee. “If I hadn’t missed Bakura so much and if I hadn’t been curious about what you were doing…”

“I almost didn’t text you,” Marik says. “Didn’t think you’d actually come. Certainly never imagined all this.”

“I would have called you crazy if you had. Marik?” Ryou sets his tea aside, leaning against the windowsill. “How long are you here for?”

Marik grins, tucking Ryou’s hair behind his ear. “You’ll have to let me trim your hair. It’s looking shaggy.”

“I haven’t touched it since you cut it.” He waits while Marik places his mug down. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“I know.” Marik circles his arms around Ryou’s waist, bumping their foreheads together. “When I texted you, it was such a long shot. I wanted you to help me rescue Bakura. But you saved me. You saved Ishtar.” Ryou cups Marik’s face. “We would have been lost without you.”

“I’d still be in Domino without all of you. But you aren’t answering my question,” Ryou presses.

Marik steals a kiss, eyes darting to the bed and back to Ryou, unable to hide his loving smile. “How does forever sound?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's how this story ends.
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who's read this. Whether you have been following along with the infrequent updates for months or are just now finding this, I appreciate you taking the time to read and hope you enjoyed it.
> 
> There are other stories set in this verse that I've posted. I'll put things in a series so they're easier to find.
> 
> I'm rambling because I can't believe it's over. Thank you for reading!


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